Sin
by fagur fiskur
Summary: Shawn is tangled in a complicated, secret, not to mention illegal, relationship. Lassiter is worried but won't admit it. Bad communication messes everything up. Shawn/Despereaux, Shawn/Lassiter.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Skin on skin. He__'__s light headed, everything has taken on a softer edge and it__'__s hard to tell one sensation from another. He feels drugged. Tangled limbs, lips on his and it tastes like sweat and alcohol, like sin. They move harsh and quick, at a bruising pace. He__'__s in pain and then there__'__s nothing but pleasure. He moans long and loud. They speed up and he can__'__t feel anything anymore._

***

Shawn was awake long before he opened his eyes. Lying in the dark, he took in the sounds, his breath echoing of the walls and the traffic outside. It took him a few moments to realize he was not alone, mostly because he hadn't expected anything else.

The cigarette smell was the first thing that tipped him off. Shawn had never smoked in his life. Then he noticed the sound of someone else breathing and the warmth along his side where that person lay next to him.

Finally, Shawn opened his eyes. He was greeted by the sight of Despereaux sitting upright in his bed, still as stark naked as the night before, smoking his usual brand. The art thief glanced at him, then turned back to staring at the wall. Shawn sat up carefully. For once he had no idea what to say. Usually Despereaux was long gone by morning, the only signs of him ever being there the bruises on Shawn's hips and a note on his nightstand.

Shawn settled his back against the wall and stared straight ahead, for once not wanting to talk.

***

"_Tell you what, Mr. Spencer. You agree to keep this meeting silent and I will give you a clue as to where, when or ho__w my next crime will be committed.__"_

_Like Shawn had a choice. The fake psychic sat down slowly on his bed, his eyes trained on the gun in Despereaux__'__s hand._

"_And instead you just want to talk?" For some reason he found it hard to believe. But Despereaux n__odded anyway._

"_Just talk," the older man said. "It'__s so very hard to find intelligent conversation these days.__"_

_Hmm, couldn__'__t be because you__'__ve been spending the past eleven months in prison, could it? But instead of voicing his opinion, Shawn asked:_

"_A__nd what makes you think I fit the bill?__"_

"_You caught me, didn'__t you?__"_

_***_

Shawn knew after that first time that he should have gone to the police. There was nothing really stopping him from doing it. But his curiosity got the better of him. Despereaux, for all his faults, was a very intelligent person and it had been a while since Shawn had talked seriously to anyone. It was… refreshing.

But as Despereaux's visits got more frequent, so did the crimes. And the older man was no longer content with fraud. At this point it was predictable and the man hated being predictable. Instead he robbed banks, jewellery stores, museums and Shawn swore he had stolen magic his magic 8 ball too, although that might have been Gus.

The clues weren't helping any. They were cryptic and misleading at best, at worst they were plain wrong (and Despereaux had admitted that some of them were written before he himself had any idea of what he was going to do).

It hadn't been too bad though. Sure, Despereaux had been coming over to Shawn's apartment almost every night, and Shawn might have been spending more time on this case than was healthy. And okay, Shawn probably should have told the police or at the least Gus about all this a long time ago, but it could have been worse. At the least they hadn't been sleeping together.

***

_Shawn couldn__'__t honestly say he hadn__'__t seen it coming. There had been signs, big, loud, glaring signs, but it__'__s human condition to ignore what you don__'__t want to see and Shawn was no different when it came to that. _

_So when he found himself being pushed against the refrigerator, eager lips on his, Shawn couldn__'__t honestly say he hadn__'__t seen it coming. Not that it lessened the shock._

_It was brief; hardly even a kiss, more like a clashing of teeth. But when they pulled apart, both men were panting and their hearts beating as if they had just run a marathon. Shawn didn__'__t dare make a sound. What the hell had just happened?! Despereaux was grinning now, his eyes glinting strangely and Shawn had to hold back a shudder. _

"_I must admit that my visit this time had an… ulterior motive," the art thief said quietly, his face still just inches from Shawn'__s. _

"_Really?" Shawn laughed nervously. "I hadn'__t noticed. Heh, you wouldn__'__t mind backing up, just a little bi-__"_

"_I __have a new business offer for you Mr. Spencer,__"__ Despereaux interrupted. __"__I help you with your problem, namely, catching me, and you-__"__ here he pressed a little into Shawn, making both their breaths catch and their eyes glaze over. __"__-help me with mine.__"_

_Shawn closed his eyes and bit back a groan. Despereaux really couldn__'__t have picked a worse time, when Shawn was at his most vulnerable in weeks, but then again he was sure Despereaux knew that already. He fought to get himself back under control, but it was very hard to deny that delicious friction._

_When Shawn opened his eyes again, they were clear and focused. He grinned back up at Despereaux and reached out his hands to play along the older man__'__s sides. They were shaking, but Shawn felt he was hiding it pretty well regarding. _

"_Deal," he whispered. _

_***_

Yeah, it had been a pretty stupid move on his part. Foolish even. But his only instincts at the moment were '_don__'__t let him get to you__'_ and Shawn always followed his instincts, no matter how idiotic. So he took over the situation in the only way he knew how (well, how do you act when people are pushing you against refrigerators?). He had regretted it immediately after, but that didn't stop him from repeating his actions every single time Despereaux came over thereafter. Before he knew, Shawn was in too deep to even consider calling the police. He couldn't stop what was happening, and worst of all, he didn't want to stop it. There was still that part of him, the part that made him throw the baseball straight at the neighbour's window and talk back to his father even while he was being arrested by him. The part that made him do reckless things he knew were going to end bad, just because he was curious of what would happen if he pushed things _just a little bit _further. The same part that got him involved in the whole psychic business to begin with.

Shawn thought he had shown remarkable restraint those first couple of weeks. He had kept himself distant (or as distant as you can get doing something so intimate), he hadn't let it get too far and he hadn't lost control. It was a temporary situation, but at the least it could have been worse…

Ah fuck it, you can probably guess what happened next. It got worse.

And now here he was, sitting in his bed next to a very naked Despereaux and it was The Morning After. Not to mention the son of a bitch was smoking in his bed, so his sheets would forever smell like cigarettes.

What the hell was he supposed to do?


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I'm still a bit ahead, so updates will be once a week at the least until chapter 3. So… yeah. Please review and all that.

Also, thanks to by beta reader merendiel.

**Chapter 1**

Shawn wasn't usually a late sleeper, although he was by no means the early riser his dad was. People who knew him always assumed that because of his slacker persona, he must waste half the day in bed and Shawn didn't really do anything to dispel that idea. But people who really knew him (all both of them) knew it wasn't the case. If anything, Shawn found it impossible to stay in bed past ten am.

So when Gus came by his apartment at noon to find the fake psychic still in bed, he knew something was very wrong.

"Shawn." Gus nudged his friend, but the man just mumbled something and turned to the other side, unfortunately dragging the blanket with him and uncovering his bare back.

"Shawn, get your lazy butt out of bed," Gus said irritated. He paused at the sight of blue bruises on Shawn's hips but then decided he really didn't want to know. What Shawn did in bed was none of his business.

"Shawn!"

Shawn jerked up at the shout and looked around confusedly for a few moments, before realizing what was going on. He groaned and let his head fall back on the pillow.

"Gus," he whined. "What are you doing here? I just managed to go back to sleep. You shouldn't be disturbing people so early in the morning."

"It's half past twelve, Shawn," Gus said incredulously.

"What?" Shawn glanced at his alarm clock. "Oh. So it is."

"'Oh'? Shawn, you were supposed to meet me at the office an hour ago. You said you had some new info on the Despereaux case. You know, the one you've been obsessing over for weeks."

"Right, right." Shawn rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. "You mind giving me a little privacy to get dressed? Of course, if you don't want, you're welcome to stay and enjoy the show."

Gus scowled in response and left the bedroom. A loud growl from his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since breakfast. After all, he had been spending his lunch hour waiting for Shawn in the Psych office.

When he looked through Shawn's refrigerator though, it was empty. And not just kind-of empty like it usually was, with a pineapple in the corner, a carton of milk and maybe some cheese. No, completely, I-haven't-shopped-for-food-for-days empty. Gus's worry level rose along with his irritation. Something was definitely wrong.

Five minutes later Shawn walked out of his bedroom and into the kitchen where Gus sat with some take-out from the night before and a thoughtful expression.

"First you break into my apartment and now you're stealing my food?" Shawn said. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to Gus. "I knew I was a bad role model."

"I didn't break into your apartment Shawn, you gave me a spare key," said Gus. He paused for a long moment, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Shawn… is something wrong?"

"What?" Shawn said in his best you-so-silly voice. Very similar to his I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about-voice. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. Peachy even."

"Shawn, you're sleeping in-"

"I sleep in all the time!"

"Not since you were eighteen and you know it. You clearly haven't bought groceries for days-"

"I'm fine with living on take-out."

"You don't even have pineapple! And you've been acting strange and reclusive for weeks," Gus finished. "Anything I forgot?"

"My hair is flat?" Shawn ventured. "I don't know, Gus, everyone goes through those things."

"Yes, it's called puberty," Gus argued back. "You've already gone through it once and you were insufferable. Well, more than usual. I don't need you to go through it again."

"I'm fine," Shawn repeated. "Now can we please talk about something else?"

"Is this about Abigail?"

"Oh dear god."

"I get it Shawn; you're not used to getting dumped. It's nothing to be ashamed about."

"Please stop talking." Shawn rubbed his forehead wearily. "This isn't about Abigail. It sucked at the time, but I'm over it. It's been like three months, and besides, our break up was totally mutual."

"Fine," Gus said. "So it's not Abigail. Did you fight with your dad?"

"All the time," Shawn replied. "But no, not this time. There's nothing wrong!"

"Don't give me that," Gus said. "Obviously something's bothering you!"

"It's not bothering me. Nothing's bothering me. My love life is fine, my relationship with Henry is… so-so. _I'm_ fine."

"This is about the case," Gus decided. Shawn flinched, because in a way Gus was right.

"Can we please just drop this?" Shawn pleaded.

"No, we cannot drop this," Gus insisted. "If you're feeling bad about this we should… talk."

"Talk? Gus, they haven't been making you do more of those trust exercises at work, have they? No wait, you've been watching Dr. Phil, am I right?"

"Shut up Shawn. It's unhealthy to bottle up your emotions."

"No, what's unhealthy is the twenty-two hours of Dr. Phil you've got recorded on your TiVo."

"Dr. Phil is a very talented psychiatrist and he's helped a lot of people with their…" Gus frowned. "I'm not going to defend my taste in television to you. You still watch Transformers cartoons on Saturday mornings."

"Dude, the Transformers are awesome. No amount of Michael Bay can ruin that."

"Stop trying to change the subject Shawn!"

"I'm not! You were the one who started on about-"

"Shawn!"

"I don't want to talk about it," Shawn finally snapped. "Why is that so hard to understand? If I wanted to talk, believe me Gus, you'd be the first to know. But I don't. So can we please, please drop it and talk about something else?"

Gus was shocked. Shawn almost never snapped at him; it was usually the other way around. But Gus just nodded dumbly, because really, what else could he do? If Shawn didn't want to talk, Gus couldn't force him to.

"So, you wanted to talk about the case?" he said instead.

The grin was back on Shawn's face, albeit a little tenser than before, and he started talking animatedly about the newest lead. Gus nodded along, even though he wasn't really listening. Something was seriously bothering Shawn and Gus wouldn't rest until he found out what it was.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The station was bustling with activity when Shawn arrived there an hour later. Despite the fake psychic's pestering Gus had gone back to work and so Shawn was on his own. Didn't matter though, since he didn't actually have anything useful to tell the police. Not yet. Despereaux had left a clue after their… meeting the night before, but Shawn had yet to decipher it. It annoyed him to no end; you'd think the mind blowing sex would be enough to earn him some better clues.

Shawn headed straight for Lassiter's desk, determined to at the least annoy the head detective some since he had nothing better to do. Maybe he'd say hi to Jules while he was at it (things between them were a lot less awkward, mostly due to her having gotten over him).

When he got there, Shawn sat himself on the desk. Lassiter didn't even look up from the paper to say:

"Go away Spencer."

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Shawn said, completely ignoring the order.

"I'm busy," Lassiter growled. "Go away."

"Busy with what, the funnies?" Shawn peered over Lassiter's shoulders to discover that he was, in fact, reading the sports section. Lassiter opened his mouth, doubtlessly to tell Shawn off again, but Juliet chose that moment to arrive.

"Hi Shawn, Carlton," she said cheerfully.

"Someone's perky today," Shawn remarked.

"It's a good day," Juliet said. "I wrapped up a case this morning, my parents are coming to town in just a couple of weeks and there's a two for one special on muffins at the coffee shop." She paused and her expression turned worried. "But you look so tired."

Shawn shrugged. He hadn't been able to get much sleep before Gus had come over, courtesy of Despereaux. Not that he was about to tell anyone that.

"In fact, you looked tired the last time I saw you too," Juliet continued. "Are you getting enough sleep?"

"I'm fine," Shawn said offhandedly. "Just a little busy with the case."

Juliet nodded sympathetically; after all they had all been losing sleep over the Despereaux case. Lassiter, who had been trying to shut them out, looked up from his paper and he had to admit that O'Hara was right. Spencer didn't just look tired, he looked exhausted. There were bags under his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled and his hair ruffled (not in the usual stylized manner either, which Lassiter was sure Spencer spent a great deal of time getting right). The usually exuberant grin on the man's face was also looking slightly forced and didn't quite reach his eyes. Lassiter would have liked to think this was something new, but the younger man had been looking worn for a while.

Not that he was worried.

"Mr. Spencer, is there any reason you're bothering my detectives?" Vick called as she passed the desk.

"Just saying hi," Shawn replied and flashed her a winning smile. She just sent him her usual amused slash exasperated grin back.

"Then maybe you should go home and get some sleep?" She suggested.

"I don't look that horrible, do I?" Shawn asked Juliet, pouting just slightly.

"Just a little," she admitted. "The Chief's right, you really should go rest."

"Lassie?"

"Go home, Spencer," Lassiter replied, now engrossed in his paper again.

Shawn rolled his eyes, but waved goodbye to Juliet anyway and headed out. They were probably right. He didn't want to look like a wreck when he went to dinner at his dad's. He had enough people worrying about him at the moment.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Dinner at Henry's was becoming somewhat of a weekly tradition for Shawn. Most of the time it was awkward, they prepared the food and ate mostly in silence (unless they were fighting), but tonight the younger Spencer was glad for that. After the sort of interrogation by Gus and worrisome comments from everyone at the station, Shawn could use a little awkward silence. The usual tension between him and his father would also serve as a good distraction from Despereaux, which he seriously needed.

"You look like hell," Henry said the moment he opened the door.

"Thank you for that observation," Shawn replied sarcastically. "Can I come in?"

Henry stepped aside and Shawn walked in, putting his helmet down and taking off his jacket. He could smell dinner from the kitchen, fish again. Probably the only thing his father knew how to cook, aside from steak.

"When was the last time you slept kid?"

Shawn sighed. This was pretty much all anyone had said to him that day. Even the cashier at the coffee shop had been giving him worried glances, like she was afraid he would fall over any moment. He didn't look _that_tired, did he?

"Last night," Shawn finally answered. "I just didn't sleep very well. I'm _fine,_really."

Henry snorted, but didn't press the issue further. They set the table and started eating in silence.

"Are you still on the Despereaux case?" Henry asked about halfway through the meal.

"Yep," Shawn quipped.

"It's been two months, hasn't it?"

"Mhm."

A beat.

"Well, you can't win them all."

Shawn stopped eating and looked incredulously at his dad.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He said. "I'm still on the case."

"In the official sense, maybe," Henry said. "But you gave up on it a long time ago."

"No I didn't!" Shawn wasn't sure whether he should be offended and surprised or just plain offended. His dad not having faith in his dedication wasn't anything new. It shouldn't surprise him. Except… it had been years since he'd given up on anything (his relationship with Abigail didn't count, they were both clearly better off without each other). Why was this coming up now?

"Please, kid," Henry said. "Back when this case started you'd come by every other day for my help on it. You don't even mention it anymore. You've given up."

"Just because I'm not asking for your help anymore doesn't mean that I've given up on it," Shawn said angrily. "I am perfectly capable of solving my cases on my own."

"Sure you are kid," Henry scoffed. "Just face it; you haven't been putting your best into this case for three weeks."

Shawn paused at that. Three weeks ago, almost to the day, Despereaux had first kissed him. Not that it meant anything. He was still working on the case, even though he was sleeping with the thief in question. Shawn was a very emotional person and he used that to his advantage when solving a case. In his mind, emotions were an asset rather than a complication. His emotions had never been in the way before, and they weren't now…

Were they?

Sometimes Shawn really hated his father's ability to plant doubt in his mind, even when he was at his most confident. All parents had that ability he supposed, but there was something about Henry that made him feel like a little kid again, hesitant and insecure.

Suddenly Shawn had lost his appetite. He put the fork down and stood up. He knew his father would just look at this as him running away from something again rather than confront it, but he found it hard care.

"This has been great, but I have to go," Shawn said, trying not to let his anger show.

"Shawn…"

"Not now, dad."

Shawn walked away without looking back, not wanting to see the disappointed look on Henry's face.

He rode home well over the speed limit, passing two or three red lights as well, for some reason eager to get back to his apartment. Maybe because he knew in the back of his mind who would be waiting for him there.

He wasn't let down. Despereaux was sitting in his usual spot in the corner, but as soon as Shawn came in he was across the room, pushing the younger man against the door. They pressed against each other and their lips met in a frenzied kiss. Shawn let his brain shut down as instinct took over. The guilt and exhaustion that had been plaguing him all day were gone and all doubt vanished. Even though he knew they would be back twofold come morning, Shawn couldn't stop himself. In the moment it made it easier, and that was all that mattered.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter's a bit late, been really busy lately. Huge thanks to my beta, merendiel, and to all you who reviewed. You guys are awesome.

Warning: There will be some hints of non-con in this chapter, so if that bothers you, you probably shouldn't read it...

**Chapter 2**

The next morning Carlton found himself parked outside Spencer's apartment. He had been driving to work, but for some reason had changed his direction midway and headed for the fake psychic's home instead.

It was early. Spencer probably wasn't even awake yet. Not that it mattered, because Carlton wasn't going in anyway. He was just… stopping by. Making sure the apartment wasn't on fire or something.

…O'Hara was worried about him. Carlton didn't want his partner to be worried; it was distracting for both of them. Besides, if something really was bothering Spencer, then it was only natural for Carlton to be a little worried. Not that he was. Which was why he was parked outside Spencer's apartment at half past seven o'clock in the morning.

'_Shit.'_

Of course, Carlton wouldn't feel half as bad if he didn't have the sinking feeling this was all his fault.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Lassiter finally made it to work the whole station was in an uproar.

"Carlton, where have you been?" Juliet asked as she ran up to him. "I called you about five times!"

Lassiter picked up his cell phone to find that it was in fact, dead.

"Must have forgotten to charge it," he said. "But never mind that. What's going on?"

"There's been another robbery," Juliet explained. "The Jewellery store on fifth got cleaned out last night. And guess whose calling card was found at the scene."

"Despereaux."

Juliet just nodded grimly in response and the two of them rushed to his car. They made it to the scene in record time but to Lassiter's annoyance, Shawn was already there.

"Who let him know about this?" Lassiter complained. When he looked at his partner for an answer he was surprised to discover that she looked even less pleased than he felt.

"My psychic senses led me here," Shawn said. He walked over to them, still holding his helmet. It was just then that Lassiter noticed Gus was nowhere to be seen. "I could sense some bad vibes coming from this general place. More specifically, right… here."

He made a show of waving his arms around, before pointing squarely at Lassiter's shades and upper lip.

"Didn't catch enough sleep last night Lassie?" Shawn asked in a mock worried tone.

Lassiter didn't bother to dignify that with a response, mostly because Shawn was right. But he didn't need to know that.

"What about you Shawn?" Juliet asked. "You don't look much better than you did yesterday."

"I'm fine," Shawn said offhandedly. "So what have we got here? Besides the usual stuff."

"Nothing, as far as I know," Juliet said. "It's just like every other theft. No fingerprints, nothing out of place. If the jewellery weren't gone, you wouldn't even know there'd been a robbery."

"Although, technically, if the jewellery weren't gone, it wouldn't be a robbery," Shawn cut in. Juliet gave him her best annoyed glare, which Shawn had to admit was pretty scary. Almost as scary as Lassiter's. "Sorry, go on."

"He left his usual calling card," Juliet concluded. "That's all we've got, really."

They walked into the store to find everything just as Juliet had described it. The shop owner was pacing in the right corner and Shawn could immediately tell that he had not helped Despereaux as many of his previous 'victims'. The man was clearly stressed out of his mind, his eyes were teary, his forehead sweaty and he was smoking despite the nicotine patch on his right arm.

"O'Hara, take the owner's statement," Lassiter ordered. He paused for a moment and his expression turned slightly pained. "And Spencer… just see if you can't divine something from the scene."

Shawn smiled despite himself, no matter how often it happened he would never get tired of Lassiter treating him like a co-worker rather than a little kid.

"And don't break anything!"

Not that it lasted long.

Shawn observed the scene, taking in every detail. But even while he was at it, he knew it would be useless. The only way they could ever get Despereaux was to catch him in the act. And that meant deciphering the clues. In his right hand Shawn still held the last note Despereaux had left him. He had figured out the meaning just half an hour ago. If he'd been quicker, concentrated harder, maybe he could have made sense of it before it was too late. Shawn growled in frustration. He knew that at this this rate he would never catch Despereaux, he was too distracted from everything that was going on. For the first time he could remember (meaning in his whole life) his emotions were getting in the way.

_You've given up._

'_Shut up dad.'_

"Shawn, are you alright?"

"Hmm?"

Shawn looked up to see Juliet standing right in front of him. He must have been pretty out of it to not have seen her. It took him a couple of seconds to catch on what she had just said.

"I'm fine," he answered. It seemed to be the only thing he said those days.

"Well, there's something you might want to see," Juliet said. "The shop owner gave it to me, said he found it in his wallet. It's… well, we think it's a message."

"A message?"

"From Despereaux," Juliet elaborated. "To you."

She held up an evidence bag. Inside it was the usual taunting note that was becoming Despereaux's new calling card. The note itself was nothing important, but Shawn could see where Juliet got the 'message' thing from. It was written on the back of a business card - the card Shawn had printed for Psych.

"Do you know what it means?" Juliet asked.

Shawn didn't hear her. He had seen this message before and he knew what it meant. The first clue from Despereaux had been this way, as had the first clue after their relationship moved into the decidedly immoral territory.

'_The rules have changed.'_

"Shawn?" At that Shawn seemed to realize he wasn't alone. He looked up from the note and smiled slightly at the blonde detective. It looked more like a grimace.

"I have no idea," he lied.

"O'Hara," Lassiter called. Juliet smiled apologetically at Shawn, before leaving to join her partner at the other side of the room.

They talked quietly for a few minutes and Shawn watched them from the corner of his eye, though his mind was in a completely different place.

The message was making him feel very uneasy. The business card wasn't as big of a factor as it seemed at first. No, it was the fact that Despereaux had left it at the crime scene (and in the shop owner's wallet of all places) rather than at Shawn's apartment. It was sending a very serious message, Shawn just couldn't figure out what it was. The last two times it happened the rules had already been changed and the business card was like a confirmation of that.

Nothing had changed for the past week. So what could it mean? Shawn could only think that he would find out tonight, and he was not looking forward to it.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Shawn was acting kind of strange," Juliet commented.

Lassiter grunted in response. They were in his car on their way back to the station and so far the ride had been quiet. Lassiter would have preferred to keep it that way, but Juliet liked conversations and he had long since learned to just let her rant. Just like she had long since learned to stop trying to get Lassiter to take part in said conversations.

"I mean, he has been different lately," Juliet continued. "He looks so tired all the time and he hardly ever comes down to the station anymore. But just now - I don't know, there was something really off about him."

Lassiter grunted again because it seemed like the right timing. He wasn't really listening- Juliet had been worried about Shawn lately and talked about it as often as he let her.

"He showed up at the crime scene without Gus. And he was really quiet, kind of out of it. But the strangest thing was when I showed him the note Despereaux left. He… he got this really strange look on his face. He said he didn't know what it meant, but I think he did."

At this Lassiter's curiosity was piqued.

"But why wouldn't he tell us if he knew?" Juliet said anxiously. "It doesn't make any sense."

She fell quiet and Lassiter considered what she had just said. If Shawn did indeed know what the message meant, then he was essentially hindering the investigation by refusing to tell them. And that had some serious implications. Juliet wasn't thinking about it clearly - while she was a great detective she did tend to let her emotions get in the way (although she had been a lot better about it in the past year). Lassiter had no such qualms. In fact, he preferred to push his emotions down in all aspects of his life (which made for the social skills of a hermit crab).

"What do you think?" Oh, she was still talking.

"I think you should talk to Spencer about it," Lassiter said.

"I don't know…" Juliet said doubtfully. "I don't think he'd want to talk about it. He's always saying he's fine and that nothing's bothering him, even though something's obv-"

"Talk to Guster then," Lassiter cut in.

Juliet nodded uncertainly, but at the least she stopped talking. Lassiter got back to his thoughts. If Juliet didn't want to talk to Shawn then that left Lassiter with just one option to find out what was wrong with him.

And that would be staking out his apartment (don't forget, social skills of a hermit crab).

oOoOoOoOoOo

Today was a good day. Not only had Gus finished his paperwork for the next _week_, he had also closed a deal with Dr. Gonzales, something he had been working on for weeks. Not to mention he'd finally gathered up the courage to talk to the cute barista at the coffee shop, and she had actually seemed interested. And he did it all without a single interruption from Shawn.

Which was kind of worrying.

Okay, scratch that. It wasn't a good day, nor was it okay or even adequate. It didn't matter how much work Gus got done, how many deals he closed or how many cute baristas he flirted with; while he was worried about Shawn he couldn't think about anything else. Being best friends with him could be really tiring sometimes.

Gus was almost kind of glad when his phone rang, assuming it was Shawn calling to bother him at work.

"Hello."

"Gus!"

Gus frowned when he heard Juliet's voice on the other end of the line. She never called, unless it was for a case.

"Hey Juliet," he said. "Is something wrong?"

"Not really." A beat. "Kind of. How's Shawn doing?"

"I don't know," Gus replied. "I haven't heard from him today."

"Really?" She sounded surprised. "He hasn't told you about the case?"

"We've got a new case?" Gus furrowed his brow. Why hadn't Shawn called him about it yet?

"Well, not a _new_case. Despereaux struck again last night."

"Oh."

"For some reason Shawn didn't seem too enthusiastic about it. I don't blame him though, we've been after the guy for so long, we're all getting tired of it. Except for Carlton, I still have to drag him from his desk on lunch breaks. I mean, he's practically obsessed with this case! I've been trying to get him to relax a bit and I even offered to arrange a date for him, but-"

"Juliet!" Juliet stopped short, probably having realized that she was ranting. "Not that I don't find Lassiter's personal life fascinating, but I'm kind of busy. Were you going to say anything else?"

"Right! Well, it's just that… there was a message left at the scene of the crime. We think it's for Shawn, it's a business card for Psych."

Now that was interesting. And really kind of disturbing too. Gus still remembered the last time a criminal called Shawn out personally all too well and he was not ready to repeat the experience.

"The weird thing was when I showed it to Shawn, he just sort of… zoned out."

"Zoned out?"

"Yeah. And when I asked him about it he said he didn't know what it means. But… I think he did. But then, Shawn wouldn't do something like that, would he?"

She sounded so unsure and for a moment Gus was inclined to believe her first theory. Except that it made no sense. Shawn would never do something like that unless he had a very good reason, and Gus would know if he did… wouldn't he?

"Could you talk to him? I would, but I don't think this is something he'd open up to me about. And you guys are so close."

"…sure," Gus finally replied. "I will."

"Thank you Gus."

"No problem."

Gus hung up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He didn't like lying to Juliet, but what else was he supposed to say? 'Yeah, I already tried talking to Shawn and he blew up at me. We'd probably have a better chance of getting Lassiter to talk about his ex-wife.' Not very comforting.

Besides, he would figure out what was wrong with Shawn. He'd just take the more… unconventional way about it.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Lassiter would love to say that this was unusual for him. That staking out a co-worker's apartment was something out of the norm, that it was a last resource and really, he had no choice. But that would be a lie.

It's just that watching someone's apartment from 20 yards is far easier than actually talking to them. So there he was, sitting in his car with binoculars in one hand and a box of Peking Duck in the other (stakeout made him hungry). He honestly didn't know what he was looking for, seeing as how he didn't expect Shawn to leave his apartment. There was really nothing to wait fo-

What was that?

Someone, a blond, _male_someone was standing on the porch by Shawn's apartment. Lassiter brought the binoculars up to his eyes, only to feel a sharp pain in his forehead. He dropped both the food and the binoculars.

"Fuck!"

Wrong hand. Lassiter rubbed his eyes and glared at the chopsticks laying innocently on the floor. When he looked up again, Shawn was standing on the porch with the blond guy. They were talking in hushed voices and then the stranger leaned down and he was kissing Shawn.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Shawn's first instinct should have been to push Despereaux away, but instead he waited until he was done. It didn't matter that he was angry with the man, after three weeks of letting him get away with anything he did it was becoming something of a reflex to just stand there and wait for it to be over.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" And there was that insufferably smug grin again, the one Despereaux always wore when he had pulled off a heist and gotten away with it right in front of Shawn's nose.

"Really?" Shawn asked angrily. "You're really asking me that?"

"I'm assuming you're angry about the message I left at the crime scene," Despereaux stated calmly.

"You don't say. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Let's go inside."

Shawn growled in frustration, but Despereaux ignored him again and walked into the apartment. The younger man grumbled something inaudible and followed.

Once they were inside Despereaux made himself at home, sat down in the only chair in sight and lit a cigarette. Shawn didn't even bother to tell him off, his whole place reeked of cigarette smoke and he'd be moving soon anyway.

"I have a proposition for you."

Those words did not bode well, but Shawn was ready for just about anything. Not much could surprise him after the last 'proposition'.

"I'm listening."

"I will be moving out of the country soon," Despereaux started. "I'm growing bored with this whole continent. There's so little in the way of culture here. So I'm going back to Europe."

Shawn didn't reply; his mind was already racing. Admittedly, he had not been expecting this. This should be great news. Except there was a catch. There had to be.

"You're coming with me."

And there it was. It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Like Despereaux expected him to drop everything and run off to Europe with him. And this time he would almost certainly not be on the good guys' team.

"No, I'm not," Shawn said. "I'm really, really not."

"I thought you might say that," Despereaux said. He looked more amused than angry. "I'm giving you one month to reconsider."

"A month?"

"I'm a patient man."

"And what happens if at the end of that month I still won't come?"

Despereaux smiled.

"Let's hope we won't have to find out."

oOoOoOoOoOo

After Shawn and Despereaux disappeared into the apartment Lassiter spent a long time sitting there, trying to make sense of the situation.

So Shawn had a boyfriend. It was obviously a secret, or else Lassiter would have heard about it from Juliet. And it did explain why Shawn had been so tired and distracted lately and why it always seemed like he was hiding something. It made perfect sense, really. Case closed and all that.

Then why did he feel so uneasy?

'_You thought it was about you. You're still stuck on what happened last month and you can't see past it. You don't understand how Spencer can move on from it so quickly.'_

Yeah, it was kind of a blow to the ego, especially since Lassiter had been so sure it was his fault. But that was all it was. _Really._

Despite the knot forming in his stomach, Lassiter started the car and drove away. He had done enough creepy stalking for the night.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It was really disconcerting how Despereaux could be threatening him one moment and then kissing him the next. Plus for the first time in forever, Shawn wasn't in the mood for sex. So he did something he hadn't ever done with Despereaux. He pushed him away.

"Not now," Shawn said firmly. "I'm really not in the mood."

Despereaux ignored him and focused on kissing his neck instead.

"Are you even listening? Wow, I feel like such a girl."

"Spencer, shut up," Despereaux muttered.

"Have I mentioned it's kind of disturbing that you call me that during sex?" Shawn asked. "I so don't want to associate sex with my father in any way. Really, I avoid using them in the same sentence-"

"Shut. Up."

Shawn pulled away again.

"I wasn't kidding," he said. "We can do this tomorrow. I'm not in the mood."

"I really couldn't care less," Despereaux deadpanned.

His grin was slipping off fast and Shawn unconsciously backed away from him. His back hit the wall and he suddenly felt very trapped. Despereaux pressed against him and Shawn could feel something hard press against his chest. So Despereaux still brought a gun to their 'meetings'. Shawn didn't have time to process that thought because now his hands were being pinned against the wall and that greedy mouth was back on his neck.

Shawn closed his eyes.

'_Just wait until it's over.'_

oOoOoOoOoOo

Fifteen minutes of rooting through Shawn's desk and so far all Gus had found was paperwork and a bunch of stuff Shawn had stolen from him (including two bouncy balls and a pack of gum).

Of course Shawn would be careful about what he kept in the office. There would be nothing there Shawn didn't want Gus or anyone else to find. Gus would just have to raid his apartment when he got the chance. Or, you know, actually talk to Shawn. Whichever came easier.

He was just on his way out when something caught his attention. In the far corner, next to the trashcan, was a crumpled up business card. Gus picked it and up and straightened it out. It was a Psych business card and on the other side was written a short message:

_Tonight_

Very short. It was probably rather old too, but then it wasn't what was written that mattered, it was _who_wrote it. Gus recognized that hand writing, he had spent weeks studying it, along with every other detective in Santa Barbara.

So the question was, what was Shawn doing with a note from Despereaux and why hadn't he told anyone about it?


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I'm a complete idiot. I've been spending the past weeks trying to fix my computer, which is being a dick and won't let me get to my documents. I couldn't get to this chapter and I so didn't want to rewrite it. Then I realized, just over three hours ago, that I didn't have to rewrite it, I had a copy of it saved on my gmail account, the copy my beta-reader sent me after proof reading. So yeah. Next chapter is still in the works, but with any luck it should be up... before March is over. Probably.

Also, you are all awesome. Yes, you lurkers too. I'm not gonna try to wring reviews out of you anymore just because you put this on story alert. I'm too happy with how many people are reading this. And big thanks to merendiel, who totally saved my ass on this one.

**Chapter 3**

_-3 weeks, 5 days and some hours earlier-_

Tom Blair's pub was not a place Carlton by any means frequented. In fact, he usually avoided it like the plague, given that a certain fake psychic was known to go there. But sometimes, when his job felt like it was weighing him down and going home to an empty apartment proved too much to handle, Carlton gave in.

Of course he could just go to a different pub, but damn it, this was his bar first.

Carlton went there straight after work, which was unfortunately just before midnight in this case (there was a lot of paperwork and Carlton was never one to wait until tomorrow with what he could do today). It was a warm and quiet night, perfect for forgetting all your problems and drinking yourself senseless. It was a shame Carlton never made it inside.

A small figure was huddled by the wall outside the pub. When Carlton came closer he could see it was in fact a full grown man sitting in a fetal position. He also happened to have a familiar shock of brown hair.

"Spencer?"

Spencer winced at the shout and looked up a Carlton, a pitiful expression on his face.

"Please Lassie, no shouting," he whimpered. He didn't look very drunk, but he absolutely reeked of alcohol.

"What are you doing out here Spencer?"

"I'm… I don' really rem'mber," Spencer said. "I think I wen' out for fresh air, but then everythin s-started spinning. I sat down, and then you came."

"Sweet justice Spencer," Carlton muttered. Now he would have to sacrifice his evening of drinking to get this idiot safely home. If only he didn't have that annoying sense of righteousness. He grabbed Spencer's hand and was shocked at how cold it was. "How long have you been sitting here?"

"I dunno," Spencer mumbled. "There were nine hats. Goin' in I mean. Four comin' out. I- I may have missed some. M'head's all wonky. No cake for me." He giggled.

Carlton ignored the younger man's drunken ramble and pulled him upright. Spencer staggered a bit and clutched onto Carlton's shoulders to steady himself. The disgruntled detective could only hold Spencer's waist to support him and try to ignore how close they were.

"You're going home," Carlton told Spencer. "Did you drive here?"

Shawn shook his head fervently.

"Gus drived… droved me," he said.

"Great," Carlton muttered. He was on foot as well; the pub was well within walking distance of both the station and his home. "Where do you live?"

It didn't occur to Carlton until twenty minutes later that it probably would have been faster to walk down to the station and pick up his car first. But by then they were already approaching Spencer's apartment. Spencer hadn't said a word since they left the pub, as it seemed to take all his concentration not to fall over. He was leaning heavily into Carlton's side and still had a vice grip on his shoulders.

Once they reached the apartment, Carlton fished the keys out of Shawn's pocket and let them in. He didn't even bother turning on the light. He dumped Spencer on the nearest chair and helped him remove his shoes. He didn't even know why he was being so nice, but seeing Spencer so drunk and, well, pathetic, stirred something in him.

"Thanks Lassie," Spencer mumbled.

"No problem," Carlton said awkwardly. "I'll just be going then…"

"Don't go," Spencer pleaded. "I don't wan' _him_to come."

"Him?" Carlton questioned, but Spencer didn't answer.

"Stay."

Carlton sighed. Well, he might as well since he'd gone so far already. He sat down and Spencer smiled happily. His eyelids were already drooping and it would be a matter of minutes until he passed out. Then Carlton could go back to the pub.

"Why were you getting drunk alone?"

Carlton regretted the question as soon as it fell from his lips. This would either open up a conversation, which was the last thing he wanted, or it would get Spencer very pissed at him.

"Gus doesn't like it," Spencer said quietly. "When I'm drunk. Gus nev'r likes it when someone's sad. An' I'm a saaad drunk these days. Gus thinks it's 'cause o' Abigail."

"It's not?"

"Nope. Abigail's… she's great. A great person. But we jus' don't fit y'know?"

Spencer didn't seem to realize that this wasn't the kind of thing he would usually share with Carlton. But then he was pretty wasted.

"It's 'cause o' _him_." Spencer shuddered. "It's… I feel so worthless. I should be able t'solve this."

"You're talking about Despereaux." It wasn't a question. Spencer nodded miserably. "You shouldn't beat yourself up over that. None of us have even come close to catching him." It felt strange to be giving a pep talk to Spencer, but seeing him so down didn´t feel right. "You've caught him before and you will again. You just need more time."

Spencer hung his head and didn't reply.

"You should probably go to bed," Carlton said after a few moments of silence. Spencer nodded, but didn´t move otherwise. Carlton sighed and pulled him up again.

Spencer was already half asleep so Carlton half-dragged, half-carried him to the bedroom. They collapsed on the bed in a heap of limbs.

'_I really need to get into better shape,'_Carlton thought. Then he noticed how close his face was to Spencer's and his brain shut down.

"Lassie?" Spencer mumbled.

"Uh…" Carlton tried desperately to form some coherent response.

As it turned out, Spencer wasn't looking for a response. Not a verbal one anyway. He leaned in and softly put his lips against Carlton's. It was barely a kiss, just lips pressing together. For some reason though, Carlton found himself unable to pull away. Instead he deepened the kiss and rolled around so he was on top of Spencer, pinning him to the mattress. Spencer responded very enthusiastically, considering he had been half asleep just a minute ago.

It didn't take very long for Carlton's brain to catch up to his body though and when it did, he pulled away regretfully. This was a mistake, a huge one. Spencer was drunk out of his mind; any advancement now would be taking advantage of him. And even if he weren't, this was something both of them would regret in the morning.

"I… I think I'd better go," Carlton muttered. Spencer looked disappointed, but he nodded.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

Carlton pretended he didn't notice how hurt the younger man sounded or how uneasy he himself felt. Instead he bolted out of the bedroom and the apartment as fast as he could. He only slowed down after a considerable distance had been put between himself and Spencer's home.

The next day he kept on pretending nothing had happened. When Spencer showed up at the station and acted the same as always Carlton almost thought that was the case. And he would have been sure Spencer didn't remember anything, if only the grin had reached his eyes.

_-The present-_

…_and softly put his lips against Carlton's._

_He felt like he was watching himself lying on the bed with Spencer from above, kissing the fake psychic much more enthusiastically than Carlton remembered._

_Then Carlton on the bed morphed into the faceless, blond stranger and the embrace got more passionate. Carlton suddenly felt very intrusive. He looked frantically around for a way out as the lovers below him got louder. Then an ear-piercing ring drowned them out._

Carlton groaned and shut off his alarm clock. He had barely slept well at all tonight, or the two nights before. Not since seeing Spencer with his mystery lover (god, did that sound cheesy).

At the least the alarm clock had cut off that disturbing dream.

As Carlton showered and shaved his thoughts inevitably wandered back to Spencer. The situation wasn't entirely unfamiliar to Carlton. He had a habit of repressing his emotions, especially if they got in the way of his work. And he had a strict policy against office romances, Lucinda being the exception that proved the rule.

But really, that was only one of the things wrong with this… weird attraction he had for Spencer. Aside from the fact that Spencer was his coworker he was also male, younger (not by much, but still a few years), wildly irresponsible and reckless, not to mention, as he had seen three nights ago, off the market. And it was just physical attraction anyway. Nothing worth acting on.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It had been a while since the Chief called him to the station. Well, a week. Not that Shawn was counting. He just hadn't had many cases lately. Most of his energy had been focused on Despereaux. Said art thief hadn't come back for three nights in a row now, and Shawn was glad for that. He still shivered when he thought of their last encounter.

He had really gotten himself in deep this time. This was a no-win situation. On one hand, he could go off to Europe, leave everything behind to partner up with a criminal who scared the living daylights out of him. On the other, he could tell someone about what was going on and be arrested. Not to mention his friends would lose what little faith they had in him if they found out he had been sleeping with a criminal.

If Shawn were anyone else he would have curled up in a corner and died by now. But he had bullshitted himself out of situations almost as bad before and he could do it again. Probably. It would take a lot of work, to be sure.

Anyway, back to the Chief. She had just called him down to the station for the first time in a week and was currently staring at him from behind her desk. It made Shawn feel like he was back in high school. Except Vick didn't have that barely concealed look of frustration and rage his old principal always had when Shawn involved. She just looked slightly pissed off, and maybe a little anxious. That last one was gathered from the fact that she had been staring at him silently for three minutes.

"I'm taking you off the Despereaux case," she finally said.

"Okay."

It took the Chief a moment to realize what Shawn had just said.

"Pardon?"

"Okay," Shawn repeated.

"Eh… all right then," Vick said uncertainly. Since when did Shawn listen to her orders? "Good. That's… are you alright Mr. Spencer?"

"I'm fine," Shawn said. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"It's just… giving up a case like this is very unusual for you."

Shawn grinned humorlessly and shrugged.

"I just don't think I can solve it," he said. "Better not to waste the department's resources, right?"

"Er, right." Vick had the strange feeling she had just stepped into the Twilight Zone. Was this really Shawn Spencer talking? This had to be a ruse. "Well, thank you Mr. Spencer. That's all."

Shawn nodded and stood up. He passed Lassiter as he walked out. The lanky detective took one glance at him, then looked away hurriedly. Any other time Shawn would have found it curious, but now he just wanted to get out of there.

Lassiter closed the doors behind him.

"I just need you to sign this," he said and put some papers on the Chief's desk. "What did you want with Spencer?"

"… I was just taking him off the Despereaux case," Vick said.

"Really?" Lassiter raised his eyebrows. "And he was okay with that?"

"Yeah." Vick ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "He was."

"Huh."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Shawn didn't even know where he was going. He had been riding around in circles for a good half an hour now, reluctant to go too far. If he got too far, the temptation to run might be too great. He might be a lot better at this commitment thing than he had been before Psych, but in his current situation running seemed like the best solution.

He didn't want to go home, because Despereaux might be there (even though it was still the middle of the day). He didn't want to go to the office, because Gus might be there (and he had been acting weird for a few days now). And he especially didn't want to go back to the police station, because being around all those cops was the last thing his guilty conscience needed (not to mention Lassiter).

After another twenty minutes Shawn finally settled on a coffee house. He could at least stay there until he felt ready to face his friends again.

And wasn't that just perfect. Since when had he avoided company? Three weeks ago he had been a completely different person. Now it felt like someone had turned his world around and he didn't even know what to do with himself anymore. The largest part of Shawn wanted him to run, but there was that guilty conscience again, telling him the least he could do was stay in Santa Barbara.

He had been waiting for the Chief to take him off the case for some while now. He had even had an argument ready. But instead he had just… given up. Because it seemed easier.

Fuck. What was happening to him?

oOoOoOoOoOo

After lunch Carlton went down to the gun range. It was a good way to vent your anger and stress without having to think about why you were angry or stressed in the first place.

Except now, every time Carlton went down there, he thought of Spencer. Because he couldn't help but think about how expert that idiot had looked with a gun in his hand, like he had done it many times before. And on top of that he had been injured and on top of a moving vehicle, so Carlton could only imagine what Spencer was capable of under normal circumstances. It was… disturbingly fascinating to think about.

It irked Carlton to no end that no matter where he went, Spencer followed. The fake psychic had been avoiding the station for days and still Carlton couldn't keep his mind of him. There was something seriously wrong with him.

And that feeling he got when he walked past Spencer in Vick's office. It wasn't often that the younger man looked down, but this time he had looked utterly defeated. He had tried to hide it, to be sure, but the look in his eyes… you can't cover up something like that. Carlton had been looking at a broken man. Or at the very least, on the verge of breaking. It made Carlton ache for him.

'_Crap. I'm not actually worried about that moron, am I?'_

It was definitely time to talk to Spencer. If Guster and O'Hara couldn't work up the courage, someone had to. And as much as Carlton hated to admit it, even in his own head, there was a part of him that wanted to be the one to help Shawn.

Even if that meant admitting he was worried.

oOoOoOoOoOo

It took him three hours to work up the courage. Three. Whole. Hours.

Carlton had never felt so cowardly in his life. He had gone straight after work to Spencer's apartment. That had been just after five o'clock and it was now… ten minutes to eight. And what had he done?

He had circled the block a couple of times. Just to work up some courage. Then he had gotten thirsty and stopped at a convenient store. After that he spent a few minutes sitting in his car. Then he had to go to the bathroom (those cheap energy drinks really went right through you). Next he'd decided his working clothes were getting a little too sweaty from all that sitting on his ass he had been doing. So he'd gone home and changed. And cooked dinner (it was getting late and he was hungry).

Right.

It was a simple matter of getting up and knocking on a door. He could do it. Carlton's social skills weren't that horrible.

But what was he supposed to say? How would he explain himself? If he told Spencer he was worried, how would he react? Would he mock Carlton? Would he even believe him? And wow, just how low was Carlton's self esteem that he was really asking himself that?

And the next thing Carlton knew he was out of the car and walking towards the apartment. His legs had apparently decided enough with this and gotten him going. At least some parts of his body were braver than his brain.

He stopped short outside the apartment. It was dark and it didn't seem like Spencer was home. That made the whole knocking thing a lot easier.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Shawn had just gotten to sleep when he heard a knock on the door. He froze for a moment, thinking that Despereaux had come back. It had been three days. But no, Despereaux didn't knock. And it wasn't Gus either, because Gus had a very distinct knock. That is, pounding on the door and shouting Shawn's name. Like Shawn was deaf. Henry had a similar approach, only louder and angrier.

Reluctantly Shawn got up and walked to the door. It was probably a door-to-door salesman or something. If those even existed anymore (the internet had wiped out many a fine profession).

It was an honest-to-god surprise to see Lassiter standing outside the door. Shawn couldn't recall Lassiter ever entering his apartment willingly. Lassiter looked oddly surprised too, like he himself didn't exactly know why he was there.

"Lassie," Shawn said after an embarrassingly long silence. "What are you doing here?"

"I… nothing," Lassiter said automatically. "Er, not really anything important… can I come in?"

Shawn raised an eyebrow, but stood aside and let Lassiter in.

"So… do you want anything?" Shawn offered. "I've got beer, milk, tap water… older milk…"

"I'm fine," Lassiter said.

"Right."

They stood in awkward silence for a little while. The whole situation seemed almost surreal to Lassiter. Here he was in Spencer's apartment, willingly, and Spencer was being quiet and insecure and other words that meant 'not himself' and Lassiter was the one who actually wanted to engage in conversation.

"Listen, Spencer…" Lassiter started. "I… I came here for a reason."

"I figured," Shawn said.

"… it's O'Hara. She's worried about you." Lassiter cursed his cowardice. This was a good way to get Shawn to open up and be truthful, lying to him. Okay, so technically it wasn't a lie. Just a lame excuse. Somehow that seemed worse. "And as her partner, I feel it is my responsibility to make sure she's not… distracted."

"Of course," Shawn deadpanned. "Well, you can tell Jules that I'm _fine._I don't need people worrying about me."

"You're not fine," Lassiter snapped. "Even I can see it, and I'm not exactly an expert on the human condition. You're _miserable_, I don't know what's causing it and I honestly couldn't care if you tell me or not, but you'd better talk to s_omeone_about it. Because whatever this is, it's not going to go away on its own."

"Who asked you?" Shawn said angrily. "I can take care of myself. I don't want or need help from anyone, especially not from someone who's even more emotionally stunted than I am."

"I am not," Lassiter said indignantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, of course not. You're well-adjusted. Really balanced. Open emotionally too."

Lassiter fumed. He was only trying to help. Why did it always blow up in his face?

"Fine, you want open?" He said. "I came here because _I_was worried. Not O'Hara, me. Although I obviously came in vain."

This silenced Shawn. Whatever response he had been waiting for, that wasn't it. In all honesty, this was something he had never expected Lassiter to admit out loud, right next to 'I believe you're psychic' and 'I want you'.

"… I didn't mean it," he finally said. "You're not emotionally stunted. Well, not more emotionally stunted than me. By much."

What came to next shocked Shawn even more. Lassiter smiled. Honest-to-god smiled. It wasn't a smirk or a grin. It was a happy little smile.

"I always knew you cared," Shawn teased, because the conversation was heading in a dangerously serious direction.

"Shut up Spencer."

"Why else would you sacrifice a productive evening of drinking to get wasted little ol' me safely home?"

"You… you remember that?"

"Yeah."

"Do you remember anything else?"

Shawn wondered how much he should admit to remembering. If he lied, it would probably bite him in the ass later. And this conversation was the most honest one he'd ever had with Lassiter.

"If you're asking; 'do I remember making out with you on my bed like a pair of clumsy, drunk teenagers', then yes." Just because he was honest it didn't mean he had to be serious.

"Great…"

"Aw, don't worry Lassie. I won't tell anyone about your little tendencies."

"Damn it Spencer, can't you take anything seriously?" Lassiter snapped. "We kissed."

"Right," Shawn said. "About a month ago. I fail to see how it's suddenly important."

"It had no effect on you at all?" Lassiter asked.

"I was drunk!" Shawn exclaimed. Meaning yes, I just don't want you to know it.

"Right, of course," Lassiter said bitterly. "Look who I'm talking to. You're already sleeping with someone else. One kiss shouldn't have any effect on you."

"Wait, what?" Shawn froze. "What do you know about that?"

"Well, I…" how did he explain this without sounding creepy? "I was passing by. I saw you kissing some blond guy on the porch."

"You didn't see who it was?" Shawn asked.

"What does that… no."

Lassiter ran a hand through his hair. This wasn't going at all how he'd planned it. Not that he had expected it to, but now they had wandered into a topic he did not want to discuss.

"You know what, I'm gonna go," he said. He turned to leave, but Shawn grabbed his arm.

"Don't leave," he pleaded. "Just… I can explain."

Lassiter paused. Shawn rarely sounded so sincere.

"Well," he said. "I'm listening."

"Sorry."

"You're apologizing?" Lassiter asked. "For what, having a boyfriend?"

"First off, he's not my boyfriend," Shawn said and shuddered. "There's nothing remotely boyish or friendly about him. And second, I'm apologizing for this."

"Wha-"

Lassiter didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, due to Shawn leaning in and cutting him off with a kiss.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I'm going to Rome tomorrow and I wanted to post this chapter before then, so it's unbeta-ed. It's also unusually short, but that's because I wrote it all with a major case of writer's block and after hours upon hours of work this was all I could come up with. I think it shows, this chapter is really kind of disjointed.

Enjoy and as always, please review!

**Chapter 4**

It was meant to be short and sweet, something to say everything Shawn couldn't say with words, but Lassiter didn't let him pull away. He grabbed Shawn's shoulders and deepened the kiss, stroking his tongue insistently against Shawn's upper lip.

Shawn allowed it to happen. He'd almost forgotten how soft Lassiter's lips were (but he hadn't, for reasons completely unrelated to his photographic memory). He reached forward and grabbed the front of Lassiter's shirt, tugging him closer for that delicious full body contact.

Lassiter broke the kiss and Shawn had to keep himself from whining in disappointment.

"We shouldn't be doing this," the detective muttered. He tried to back away, but Shawn's hands were still clinging to him and refused to let him go.

"Give me one reason why," Shawn challenged.

"Your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," Shawn repeated. "And really, if that's the best excuse you can come up with-"

"We still need to talk," Lassiter interrupted. "You're keeping something from me."

"We'll talk," Shawn promised. "But just… not tonight, alright? There's too much… we need to clear the air first, you know?"

"No," Lassiter said honestly.

Shawn sighed in frustration. For some reason he craved this- physical contact, something consensual, and he couldn't put it into words. It was definitely more than lust but it wasn't love either. It was just need, plain and simple. He hadn't been close to another human being for what felt like an eternity and he hadn't realized how starved he was for contact until now.

"I… need this," he finally said. "We'll talk tomorrow, I promise."

Against his better judgment Lassiter nodded and pulled Shawn in for another kiss.

They could regret this tomorrow.

oOoOoOoOoOo

The doors to Shawn's bedroom burst open and the two men tumbled in. Shawn was pulling Carlton closer to the bed, their lips still locked together. They fell onto the bed, Shawn on top, and it was only then that the younger man noticed the stench of cigarette smoke still clinging to his sheets.

'_Don't think about him. Whatever you do, don't think about him.'_

This was made much easier for Shawn when Carlton squeezed his ass through his pants and did that _thing_with his tongue. All thoughts of Despereaux flew out the window and Shawn enthusiastically went back to the matter at hand, namely getting Carlton's shirt off.

Suddenly Carlton's hands were on his hips and although the grip was fairly light it made Shawn gasp in pain. The bruises there were still fresh and served as another brutal reminder of why this was such a very bad idea. Carlton broke their kiss and loosened his hold.

"Shawn," he muttered. He sounded worried.

"It's nothing," Shawn said. He was going to add some reassuring lie so they could get back to what they were doing, but something caught his eye.

There, on top of the frame hanging above his bed was a small dot of green light. It almost looked like-

'_Oh,__**hell**_ _no.'_

"Shawn?"

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on him. All excitement was gone; all that was left was a sick feeling settling in his gut. Shawn may be adventurous, but he was no exhibitionist.

"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it. He'd put Carlton through enough shit for one evening, and now it wasn't even going to end in sex. It was suddenly painfully clear to Shawn that before anything could happen, he needed to sort this mess out. He wouldn't be able to relax until he did.

"You're sorry?" Carlton echoed. "What the hell is it now Spencer?"

Ah, so we're back to Spencer. Shawn smiled grimly, although he was aware that Carlton probably couldn't see it in the darkness.

"We can't do this," he said. He moved off the bed and Carlton sat up.

"Right. And what happened to 'we'll talk tomorrow'?" Now the older man sounded annoyed. Shawn couldn't blame him.

"We will." Probably. If Shawn didn't blow out of town or something.

"Oh, so now you're throwing me out without so much as an explanation?" Shaw opened his mouth to reply, but Carlton unknowingly cut him off. "Does this have to do with the bruises on your hips?" He sounded worried again. It was getting hard to keep up with him.

"What bruises?" Feign ignorance, maybe he'd buy it. Shawn hissed in pain as a sharp poke at his hips dashed those hopes. "What the hell was that for?"

"How did it happen?" It was still concern, but laced with something Shawn couldn't quite place. It reminded him of something he'd witnessed at the police station as a kid, a crying girl wrapped up in an oversized coat and the gentle way his dad talked to her-

Oh. _Oh._

"It- it's not like that," he said. He couldn't see Carlton, but he knew the man had a disbelieving look on his face. "You should go. We'll talk tomorrow."

"What's going on?"

Oh Christ. Carlton's voice was quiet, almost tender and somehow incredibly sexy in its own right. Shawn had never heard Carlton talk so gently to anyone; it made him want to tell him everything.

Which was a really bad idea right now. Shawn wasn't that big of an idiot. Despereaux would probably kill them both.

"Get out," he said instead, forcing his voice to sound harsh. In his experience it was a lot easier to get people to leave if you were being a jackass. Only Gus was ever stupid enough to stay.

"Spencer-" the man half-growled and that was just so unfair, how could Shawn be expected to throw him out when he sounded so sexy?

"I said get out."

Apparently Carlton didn't need to be told thrice, because he stood up and stormed out of the bedroom. Shawn followed; face as expressionless as he could muster.

"I will come back tomorrow," Carlton promised as he put on his shoes. "And you better be ready with an explanation." Like Gus, Henry and really, any important person in Shawn's life, Carlton had the ability to look both angry with Shawn and worried about him at the same time. It was a little comforting.

Shawn nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He half wanted to warn Carlton, ask him to watch out for any potentially murderous art thieves, but he figured the man was paranoid enough on his own.

With one last concerned look Carlton left. With no witnesses Shawn allowed himself to crumble down on the floor, his legs too shaky to carry him anymore. This was bad.

His mind flashed back.

_Seven days ago, give or take_

_A camera._

_There was a fucking camera in his bathroom. Shawn didn't think he'd ever been this pissed off. He knew exactly who had put it there._

_A quick sweep through his apartment revealed three more cameras. Two in his bedroom, one in the living room. He gathered them on the kitchen table and smashed them with a book._

_He probably shouldn't be so surprised. Despereaux had shown himself capable of far worse things in the past. Hell, he'd done worse things to Shawn just two days ago._

_But this was different. This wasn't just some sick fantasy fulfillment. This was an invasion of his privacy, this was power play at its worse, this was… creepy as hell. This crossed a line._

_It was a startling revelation then that Shawn could do nothing about it. Despereaux had backed him into a corner. Shawn no longer had control over his own life._

_Here's what would happen: Despereaux would eventually pay him another visit, probably sooner rather than later. Shawn would ask about the cameras, he would probably yell and generally be angry and out of character. Despereaux would sarcastically ask what Shawn was going to do about it, maybe suggest he go to the police with it before reminding him that if he did it would end just as badly for Shawn as it would for Despereaux._

_Shawn would shut up and quietly admit defeat. Despereaux would back him into the bedroom and have his way with him and Shawn would lie back and take it because it was a lot less scary than trying to fight back and be unsuccessful._

Back in the present Shawn shook himself out of his thoughts. None of it had happened. Shawn had given up on it before Despereaux had even come and neither of them had mentioned the cameras.

This was different though. After what Shawn had done there was no way Despereaux was just going to quietly replace the cameras Shawn had found and continue as if nothing had happened. The man was a possessive fuck; that was why the cameras were there in the first place.

And there was no way Shawn was going to take it lying back anymore.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait in between chapters. Star Trek has kind of been taking up all of my time lately, but I'm trying to get back on track with this. I'm more than half-way through anyway, might as well finish it.

Big thanks for merendiel, for beta-ing :)

Princess Bride reference is courtesy of ktb87, who asked for it a while back.

**Chapter 5**

As soon as Carlton was gone, Shawn stood up and grabbed the camera sitting on the frame above his bed. It was small and delicate, probably very expensive. Also more than likely bought with stolen money. Shawn examined it shortly, then threw it on the floor and stepped on it.

He grabbed a shirt and rushed out of the bedroom. He had to get out before Despereaux got there. Go find Gus, or possibly Henry. He needed a game plan before he could involve the police or else he was looking at five to ten, time off for good behavior. And that was assuming Despereaux didn't just go ahead and kill him.

Just as he was heading out the front door, it opened. Shawn stopped short and felt the blood freeze in his veins. Paralyzing terror came over him and he could only stand there and stare at the gun aimed at him. He didn't dare look at the man attached to it.

"Good evening Mr. Spencer."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Carlton Lassiter was a man of many flaws. He knew this, he acknowledged it. He wasn't the type to delude himself. He knew he was stubborn, grumpy and blunt, and just all around socially awkward.

But Carlton had never considered himself a coward. Not until tonight anyway.

It seemed painfully obvious now. Shawn hadn't been himself for the past few weeks, anyone could see that. He was more like a shadow of his former self, both emotionally and physically (Carlton would be lying if he said he hadn't watched Shawn's physique closely enough to know he had dropped at least five pounds).

And now there was the mysterious boyfriend, whom Shawn obviously disliked and maybe even feared, and the bruises.

The bruises. Oh god. Carlton felt nauseous just thinking about how they might have gotten there. How many more there might be. How had no one noticed it before? Were they really all so self absorbed that they hadn't been able to see Shawn wither up before their very eyes?

Shawn was in an abusive relationship. Best case scenario, it involved verbal abuse and some seriously rough sex, worst case scenario… Carlton didn't dare to finish that thought.

But what could he do? His first instinct would be to arrest the guy but then he got the feeling there was something more to the situation and he didn't want to inadvertently get Shawn into trouble.

(And wasn't that just a kick in the teeth? Since when had Shawn been his first priority? Hell, since when had he been 'Shawn'?)

Well, there was one person he could go to. Not that he really wanted to, because doing so would be admitting to someone else than himself that he cared, but Shawn's security was on the line. Emotional, if not physical.

Sighing, Carlton turned the car around and headed for Guster's apartment.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Had it not been for the distressed look on Lassiter's face, Gus would have demanded to know what the heck he was doing at his apartment at this hour. There was also the fact that, after four years of working together, Gus was still just a little bit terrified of the guy. Really, who could blame him? He owned dozens of guns and had the authority to use them.

So instead of demanding an explanation Gus offered the detective a seat.

"You're Sh… Spencer's best friend," Lassiter started just as he sat down.

"I am," Gus agreed. The 'get to the point' went unsaid.

Lassiter cleared his throat awkwardly. "I was wondering whether you knew... you know, what's been bothering him lately?"

Gus's eyes narrowed just a fraction. "Why are you so interested?" He asked.

"He's my coworker, isn't he?" It was a weak argument and they both knew it.

"You can't stand him," Gus reminded him. "I'd think you'd be ecstatic that he's not bothering you in your workplace anymore."

"Yeah, you'd think so," Lassiter muttered. "Listen, just tell me what you know Guster."

Gus paused. This was it. He could either tell Lassiter what he'd found and hope they could figure out a solution together, or he could lie his ass off.

"Not much," he finally said. "Shawn won't talk to me. He's never been very good at talking about his problems. If he gets a paper cut he'll complain for the rest of the day, but if it's something serious… he clamps up." He shrugged. "He hasn't told me himself, but I think it's got to do with the Despereaux case."

Okay, he had been spending too much time around Shawn. At least he admitted it had to do with the case.

Lassiter shook his head. "I don't think so. Has Spencer told you about his new boyfriend?"

Gus's eyebrows flew up. "Boyfriend? Shawn's in a relationship again?" _'And he didn't tell me?'_

Lassiter nodded.

"This is the first I've heard…" Gus stopped short. "Wait a minute. How do _you_know that?"

"How I know isn't important," Lassiter said quickly. A little too quickly. "What is important, is that he's… well, I think… I mean, it seemed like a logical conclusion… that he's abusive."

"Who, Shawn?" Gus asked outraged.

"What? No!" Lassiter protested. "The boyfriend."

"You think Shawn's in an abusive relationship?" Gus' first instinct was to laugh. Shawn, the poor little abuse victim? He would never take something like that lying down.

Except… he had been different lately. Distant, occupied. And there were those bruises last week that Gus had assumed were from rough sex. Suddenly laughter was the furthest thing from his mind. "Oh my god. Why didn't I notice?"

"Don't blame yourself Guster," Lassiter said. "We all knew Shawn wasn't himself and I knew about the boyfriend, but I didn't connect two and two together until I saw the bruises-"

"Bruises," Gus cut in. "There were more?"

"Huh?"

"He had bruises on his hips last week," Gus stated. "There were more?"

Lassiter shifted. "No."

"Then how do you… and did you just call him _Shawn_?"

"It's his name, isn't it?"

Gus shook his head. He did not want to think about the implications of that. Better stay on topic.

"What should we do, call his father?"

Lassiter paled. "Do you want to be the one to tell him?" He asked.

"Uh…" Given Henry Spencer's papa-bear tendencies, Gus figured he would probably want to be well out of hearing range when the older man got the news of the alleged abuser.

"We need to talk to Shawn about this," Lassiter added grimly. "I think there's something more to the situation than meets the eye. I'm not sure telling the police would be a very good idea right now."

Gus stared at him. "…I'm sorry, but I think I misheard you. Did you just say that we _shouldn't_tell the police? Who do you work for again?"

"I'm serious," Lassiter said.

"So am I! You're the most by-the-book guy I know. You're worse than Mr. Spencer! Now you want to _not_tell the police about something that is so obviously police business because what, you think it would get Shawn into trouble?"

"Shawn is already in serious trouble. I just don't want to make it worse."

"Why would this get Shawn into more trouble? It's not like _he's_the one doing anything illegal."

There was a long pause at that. Finally, Lassiter sighed.

"I don't know," he muttered. "But even if Shawn's done nothing wrong, we still wouldn't be doing him any favors by telling more people about this."

Gus nodded. "You're right. I should talk to him first."

"Great. We'll talk to him tomorrow and-"

Gus held up his hand. "We?" He asked. "You're really worried about him, aren't you?"

Lassiter shrugged uncomfortably and Gus decided not to push it. He didn't want to know anyway.

"Tomorrow," he agreed instead.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Shawn backed slowly into the nearest chair and sat down at a wave from Despereaux's gun.

_'Don't say anything stupid. Don't do anything stupid. Just… do whatever you need to get out of this alive. You'll be free from him tomorrow.'_

"It seems that I have not made myself clear enough, regarding the details of our… partnership," Despereaux began.

Shawn didn't take his eyes away from the gun. He licked his lip. "Really now. How so?"

"When I first started it, there was something I forgot to mention- something I would have expected you to figure out on your own, but I suppose I might have expected too much of you."

There was an insult somewhere in there and for once Shawn couldn't care less. It was kind of hard to care when you were too busy trying to hold back shivers of fear. It wasn't just the gun- Shawn had been held at gun-point disturbingly often in his life, but rather the cold, calculated expression on Despereaux's face that still barely managed to cover the scalding rage in his eyes.

"I am a very possessive man, Mr. Spencer," The art thief said calmly. He stepped closer and Shawn flinched slightly as the gun's barrel brushed softly against his cheek and settled beneath his chin. "I do not share what is mine, and you, Mr. Spencer, are _mine._"

What frightened Shawn most about that statement was the way Despereaux said it. It was with absolute certainty, as if stating an unquestionable fact. Despereaux no longer considered him an enemy to go against, but a possession of his, something to be owned. And Shawn wasn't sure he could dispute that.

"Is that why you hid the cameras in my apartment?" And holy shit, Shawn had not meant to say that out loud. He really needed to learn not to piss off people who had him at gun-point.

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, all Despereaux did was smirk slightly. "Precisely. I had hoped they would not be necessary, but it seems you have more defiance in you than I foresaw." He pushed the gun harder against Shawn's jaw, a clear threat. "No matter. You will not meet with your detective again."

A fierce bubble of panic rose in Shawn's stomach. "If you hurt him-"

Despereaux's hand shot forward and grabbed the younger man's throat; tightly enough so it hurt to breathe, but not so hard that it was impossible.

"You will not concern yourself with him," He hissed into Shawn's ear. "Tomorrow he will be dead and you will be on the next plane with me to Europe."

Shawn swallowed with great difficulty and Despereaux loosened his grip slightly. "Three days," he pleaded. "Give me three days to get ready. And stay away from Lassie."

"Why should I do either?" Despereaux questioned. "Given time, you will alert the police of my plans. And as for your dear Head detective, I see no reason why I should let my competitor live."

"I won't tell anyone," Shawn promised. "I won't talk to Lassie either. I'll come with you to Europe." Despereaux removed his hand from his neck and Shawn used the sudden freedom to lean even closer to his tormentor, suppressing the panic rising in his throat at the proximity. He could only hope his talent for improvisation wouldn't fail him.

"I… want to come with you." He was carefully hesitant, as if admitting to a shameful desire.

"Indeed?" Despereaux sounded slightly intrigued, although he was obviously trying to hide it.

"Yeah," Shawn whispered. "I think I've been on the right side of the law long enough. It's about time I try switching sides."

"And what brought on this sudden change of heart?"

Shawn shrugged. "It's not so sudden. I've been thinking about it for a while. We work so well against each other; I think we'll be amazing together."

"Yes," Despereaux muttered. "We could accomplish great things together, no doubt."

Shawn allowed a small grin slip on his face. "It sounds exciting. Probably pays a lot better than Psych, too."

"And what of your Head Detective?"

"I sometimes have trouble keeping my hands to myself," Shawn answered carelessly. "If you don't want me to, I won't sleep with other people. But just... don't kill him. I may be ready to go on a crime spree with you, but I'm not really up for murder."

"Very well, I will not kill your Head Detective," Despereaux agreed. "But I still fully expect you to be on that plane with me tomorrow."

"Two days," Shawn amended. "Give me time to say goodbye to my mom. It's the least I owe her. And then, I'll go with you wherever you want."

Despereaux grinned dangerously. "As you wish."


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: **It's up, it's up, it's up. I feel like someone just lifted the world of my shoulders, I felt so guilty making people wait for this. But it's done, it's up, after rewrite, after rewrite, after rewrite. I can finally focus on… the next chapter. Shit.

But I promise not to make you wait so long again. Probably. Because this is an even more cruel ending than last time.

**Chapter 6**

Shawn was out of bed before he had even opened his eyes. He threw on the same dirty clothes from the day before, not bothering to brush his hair or put on socks. The night had been long and restless, but he hadn't really expected a good night's sleep after the events of the previous evening.

While he chomped down on a banana (the only edible thing left in the apartment) he considered his options. Contacting the police would mean explaining the situation to them, and Shawn just wasn't ready to go to jail. That meant no calling Jules or Lassie either, and while Gus had hardened considerably since they had started their detective business Shawn was not ready to put him in that kind of danger.

That only left one option.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"So…"

"So."

Gus had an overwhelming urge to bang his head against the dashboard. This was without doubt the most awkward car ride of his life, beating out even that one time he had gone hitchhiking with Shawn and the couple that picked them up spent the entire three hour ride arguing loudly about what sexual positions maximized the chances of conception (Shawn had chimed in suggesting something called a 'Dirty Sanchez', earning him a withering glare from the arguing couple).

Why had he agreed to do this with Lassiter again?

A glance at the other man answered his question. The head detective was gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white, and his jaw looked painfully clenched. He was worried about Shawn too, maybe almost as much as Gus was.

Besides, Gus was not looking forward to confronting Shawn about this. Having someone with him, even if it was Lassiter, made him feel a little less nervous.

Still. They could have at least taken different cars to Shawn's apartment.

"He's still not answering his cell phone?" Lassiter asked, bringing Gus out of his thoughts.

"No," Gus replied. "But that's nothing unusual."

Lassiter grunted something in response and they lapsed back into an awkward silence.

Why had he agreed to this again?

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Shawn."

Henry looked surprised. Fair enough, Shawn hadn't really talked to him since their last argument about the Despereaux case.

"Hi dad," he muttered. This was not going to be easy. His pride, when it came to his father anyway, was not an easy thing to swallow. "I need your help."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Oh? After ignoring my calls for days on end-"

"Dad-"

"-you show up at my door and expect me to help you without as much as an apology?"

Shawn gritted his teeth. He wanted to argue back, but he couldn't. Not now. "Dad," he repeated. "I need your help."

He must have sounded pathetic because after a brief hesitation, Henry let him in. "What's going on kid?"

"It's… complicated," Shawn started. "I got involved in a situation I thought I could handle, but then… I couldn't. And now I'm in way over my head."

Henry closed the door and they walked together into the living room. "Is this about the Despereaux case?"

"Yeah." Henry sat down, but Shawn didn't feel like he could handle sitting still right now. He felt too on edge. "He might have contacted me."

Henry's expression turned stony. "What?"

Shawn had a sudden urge to shout 'hah, gotcha!' and play the whole thing off as a joke. He couldn't do this. What on earth had made him think he could tell his father about this? He couldn't even talk to him about his normal relationships, never mind this sadomasochistic mess of a… well, an arrangement.

But he needed all the help he could get.

"Actually, he did more than just contact me," Shawn said to the floor. "He showed up at my apartment with a gun."

There was a long pause. "What did he do?" Henry finally asked.

"Nothing," Shawn assured him. _Yet, _he added in his mind. "He, uh… he wanted to talk. Said he wanted some intelligent conversation."

"So he came to you?"

Shawn laughed, but it was just a bit hysterical. "Yeah, I was as shocked as you are. But he offered to leave me clues for his crimes instead, so I agreed."

"And why didn't you go to the police after he left?" Henry sounded accusatory, but Shawn could hear he was trying really hard not to be. That alone said a lot about how worried his father must be. It was kind of comforting, not that Shawn would ever admit that.

"I thought I could catch him on my own," Shawn confessed. "And… I was curious. He wasn't… I had fun talking to him."

He looked up at Henry, who looked like he was contemplating whether to call the men in white. "You had fun," he deadpanned. "Of all the…" he paused. "Well, this could be worse. If we go to the police now, a good enough lawyer should be able to get you off the hook. We just need to act quick-"

"Ah…" How to explain this?

Henry rubbed his forehead warily. "For Christ's sake kid. It got worse, didn't it?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'worse'," Shawn said awkwardly. "I didn't help him or anything like that."

"What did you do Shawn?"

"…I slept with him."

The silence was deafening. Shawn didn't- couldn't- take his eyes of his father, who was turning increasingly dark shades of red with an alarming speed. "You…" he fell back into silence and Shawn could just see the lecture building up inside him. "Shawn, of all the crap you have pulled in your life this is by far the dumbest." There we go. "Do you have any idea what consequences this will have for you? For your job, for your life? What were you thinking? Were you even-"

He stopped short and a horrified look crossed his face, suddenly deathly pale. Shawn was beginning to get kind of worried. How many shades could a man turn in one minute before their head exploded from the effort?

"He didn't force you, did he?" Henry asked slowly, quietly. Afraid to find out that the answer would be just what he suspected.

Shawn didn't answer right away and Henry buried his face in his hands. "Oh God, no."

"He didn't beat me or anything," Shawn said, suddenly desperate for anything that could make this situation lighter, anything that could make the defeated note in his father's voice go away. "I mean, he had a gun, but it's not like I fought it."

"Forced consent," Henry said slowly, raising his head from his hands. He looked angry now, "is just as bad as no consent given at all. If you only complied because you feared for your life then that's no better than if you had fought back and lost. It's still r-"

He stopped, unable to continue. Shawn for his part was frantically trying to push down the wave of fear and panic that threatened to overtake him at Henry's words.

"You're the victim here, Shawn," Henry finally continued, his voice somewhat pacified. "And if you tell the police exactly what happened, I can almost guarantee you will be treated as such. But if you go to them and you leave this out, then you will be going to jail."

"But you just said all I needed was a good enough lawyer," Shawn protested. "I don't need to tell anyone else about this. And you don't get to either, okay?"

Henry stood up so abruptly Shawn almost jumped out of his skin. "Don't you dare-" he started to shout, but he stopped almost immediately. It took him visible effort to calm down. "Shawn, if you think I'm going to let Despereaux hurt you any more, even indirectly, then you are sorely mistaken."

He gripped Shawn's shoulders lightly, the touch almost startlingly gentle. Shawn fidgeted, kind of wishing his dad would go back to yelling at him. This compassionate, caring Henry was too strange.

"We are going to catch that bastard," Henry said determinedly. "And he's going to pay for his crimes. But you need to tell the police exactly what happened, or you're going to be sitting in the cell next to him. I know it's hard-"

"No you don't," Shawn said coldly. He stepped back, out of Henry's grasp. "You don't know shit. If you did, you wouldn't be asking me to tell anyone else about this."

He knew it was unfair to lash out on his dad, but it was all boiling to the surface and he didn't much feel like caring about other people's emotions at the moment.

Henry's expression hardened just slightly. "You're right, I can't know exactly what you feel right now. But knowing what that son of a bitch did to you…you think you're the only one feeling helpless, Shawn? You think you're the only one who's afraid?"

"I'm not afraid," Shawn protested hotly.

"Perhaps you should start then."

Shawn didn't need to turn around to know who was standing there. That cold, familiar voice was clue enough. He closed his eyes.

'_Fuck, not again.'_

Henry let out a sound that was almost a growl. "Get out of my house."

Shawn opened his eyes and turned his head just slightly, seeing Despereaux walk into his field of vision, a gun trained on the older Spencer. He had to give his dad credit, he had never managed to sound this threatening while being held at gunpoint (or ever, but that was beside the point).

"I can see where Shawn got his manners," Despereaux remarked coldly. Henry looked like he wanted to launch himself at the thief.

"I'm guessing you had another camera here?" Shawn asked casually, his mask firmly in place.

Henry had a harder time keeping his calm. "He's got a camera in my house? And just what the hell do you by 'another'?"

"I might have left out some details in my explanation," Shawn muttered.

Despereaux gestured with his gun and the two Spencers sat down on the couch. "There are no cameras here. There is a bug in the boat model, however."

Henry glanced at the model sitting innocently on top of the television.

"Your house was particularly challenging to break into," Despereaux said with a grin. "You should be proud Mr. Spencer."

"I'm thrilled," Henry deadpanned.

"It´s a pity your son wasn't as big a challenge."

Henry jumped up, but Despereaux clearly expected that and turned his gun on Shawn instead. "I'd be careful if I were you, Mr. Spencer. As much as it would disappoint me to kill Shawn now, I won't hesitate if you give me a reason to do so."

Shawn glanced between the two men, both furious in their own right. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Well, it wouldn't be a very sharp knife. A butter knife maybe. But that's still pretty impressive for air. Henry sat down and Shawn didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

"Now, Shawn," Despereaux said calmly, suddenly all smiles again. "I want you to pick up your phone and call your detective friend. Invite him over."

Shawn didn't move. "I'm guessing you're not going to turn yourself in."

Despereaux raised an eyebrow.

"Then no," Shawn said. "I'm not going to help you lure Lassie into a trap."

Despereaux sighed and turned his gun back on Henry. "Pick up your phone and call your Head Detective," he ordered. "Do not make me repeat myself again."

Reluctantly and ever-so-slowly Shawn reached for his phone. He scanned his surroundings discreetly, looking for something, anything, that could help him. He found nothing that would do much good, and even if Henry had left a shot-gun on the table it would have been useless. As long as Despereaux's gun was trained on Henry, Shawn couldn't risk a sudden attack. Henry could hold his own and he might even be able to dodge if Despereaux chose to shoot, but the chances were too low and the stakes were still just Shawn's life versus Henry's.

Carlton picked up on the first ring and Shawn inwardly cursed. "Yeah, Lassie? Are you busy?" He glanced at Henry, who was minutely shaking his head, but Shawn chose to ignore it. "What do you mean? I have my phone right- wait, I left it on silent. My mistake. Now- don't- aw, that's sweet, you were worried about me?" Despereaux cleared his throat impatiently. "Righto. Well, I really need you to come over. No I'm not- how did you know that? What are you doing at my apartment? Never mind, just come to Henry's. Yes, now. No, you're not in trouble. Just- I'll talk when you get here. Bye."

Shawn hung up, feeling that familiar guilty feeling churning his gut. Henry was very pointedly not looking at him, but Shawn didn't blame him. Unless he came up with a plan in the next ten minutes, he had essentially signed Carlton's death sentence.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Was that Shawn?" Guster demanded as soon as Carlton had hung up.

"Who else?" Carlton replied testily. "He wants me to meet him at his father's."

Guster's eyebrows rose. "Meeting the parents already?"

Carlton felt his ears redden. "Shut it, Guster. Something's wrong. I don't know what, but you'd better go to the station. If I don't contact you in-"

"No way," Guster cut in. "If Shawn's in trouble, then I'm coming with you. Call Juliet."

Carlton thought about protesting, but decided not to waste the energy. He was probably being paranoid. Stil… he punched in O'Hara's number.

"O'Hara, I'm going to Henry Spencer's house. If you don´t hear from me in twenty minutes, send reinforcements. Wha- this is not about Henry Spencer! I'm not _scared_ of him! Just follow my orders, I shouldn't have to explain myself."

He hung up and looked over at Guster, who was shaking his head disapprovingly. "What?"

oOoOoOoOoOo

Shawn could see the wheels in his father's mind turning. His own were pretty much clogged with paralyzing fear at the moment. His only hope at the moment was that Carlton had called backup, but he doubted even the head detective would be that paranoid.

Too soon the bell rang and Despereaux gestured at Shawn with his gun. Shawn stood up, every limb stiff as a board. The art thief grabbed him roughly and dug the gun painfully into the small of his back.

"I want no trouble from you, Mr. Spencer," Despereaux told Henry. "If you move so much as an inch I will know, and Shawn will pay for it."

Henry's only response was a glare so fierce, Shawn was surprised Despereaux didn't just keel over. The older man did seem somewhat subdued though as he followed Shawn to the door, pressed uncomfortably close to his backside.

"You can still turn around," Shawn pleaded. "I'll go with you to the airport willingly if we just leave right now. You kill Carlton and I can guarantee that every cop in Santa Barbara will be after you."

"I am already the most wanted man in the city," Despereaux replied. "And I do not plan to stick around for long, so one more murder hardly matters."

"You think it'd give you some pause morally," Shawn muttered.

Despereaux dug the barrel of the gun harder into Shawn's back, making the younger man wince. "Answer the door, Spencer."

Shawn slowly did as he was told, praying that Carlton would be for some inexplicable reason ready with a drawn gun on the other side.

Instead he opened the door to the head detective tapping his foot and staring into the air. Behind him… oh god, no.

Shawn swallowed.

Gus was there.

'_Shit.'_


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for the wait. Guess I was busier than I realized. Oh well, you don't have to put up with my erratic schedule much longer. Only one chapter left:D

**Chapter 7**

Carlton hadn't known what to expect when Shawn called him over to his father's house. His gut had told him the worst, which was why he had contacted O'Hara in the first place. Rationally though, he knew that it was probably nothing. He was just on edge after everything that had happened lately.

So finding Shawn in the hands of the most wanted man in Santa Barbara was a bit of a shock.

"Well, Shawn?" Despereaux prompted. "Aren't you going to invite our guests in?"

Shawn's jaw clenched and his face paled, but he stepped aside.

With a cursory glance at Guster, Carlton stepped in, knowing that the other man would follow, despite the frightened look on his face. Neither dared to do anything yet, not while Despereaux's gun was digging into Shawn's lower back. Carlton couldn't help but notice that the criminal was standing unnecessarily close too, with his hand resting on Shawn's waist in an almost possessive gesture.

Despereaux led them all into the living room, where Henry Spencer sat on the couch, his arms crossed and expression murderous. Despereaux pointed for Guster and Carlton to sit on the couch as well, but pulled Shawn to the other end of the room. He seated Shawn in an arm chair and kept his hand on his shoulder. Next to him, Carlton could feel Henry tense.

"It looks like everyone involved has arrived," Despereaux announced. He smiled pleasantly at everyone's glares. "Normally this would be the point where I made thinly veiled brags and threats in the form of a polite conversation, but I think we've all moved past that. We have a plane to catch, and I'd rather take care of all loose ends now."

With that said, he pointed his gun squarely at Carlton's chest.

"Don't!" Shawn shouted and stood up abruptly, making Despereaux turn his gun on him instead. "I mean… let's think about this rationally, shall we?"

"I have already given this plenty of thought," Despereaux said coldly. "Now _sit down, _Spencer, before you hurt yourself."

Shawn remained standing. "You don't have to do this."

"Shawn, sit down," Henry hissed. His son paid him no mind.

"You kill Lassie and I guarantee, you're going to regret it," Shawn said. "I mean, theft is one thing. But murdering a cop? Do you realize what will happen to you when they catch you? And make no mistake, you will get caught. You can't hide forever, no matter how good you are at it."

Despereaux looked bored. "I am properly frightened, I'm sure."

"You should be." Shawn turned to Guster. "You did call the police before you got here, didn't you?" He winked discreetly and Carlton rolled his eyes.

"Don't drag me into this, Shawn," Guster said angrily when Despereaux's gun turned to him.

"Well, didn't you?"

"Lassiter did."

"Oh, thanks a lot," Carlton hissed. "Like he didn't want to kill me enough already."

Though why, he had no idea. The whole situation seemed off, like there was some vital information missing.

"You hear that," Shawn said triumphantly. "The police are on their way. You've got nowhere to go, so give it up and come peacefully. Make it easier on yourself."

Despereaux looked livid for a moment, before settling his features. "You are lying."

"Are you willing to take that chance?"

"Are you?"

Shawn froze.

Despereaux grinned, apparently having found a weak spot. "You are as guilty as I am, Shawn," the thief said quietly. "So do you think the police are going to go easy on you, because you work for them? Or will it make the betrayal all the worse?"

"Don't listen to him kid," Henry muttered.

"What is he talking about?" Guster demanded.

Despereaux raised his eyebrows in false surprise. "My apologies, it seems I forgot to explain the situation properly. Will you do the honors, Shawn?"

Shawn was staring at the wall, very pointedly avoiding everyone's eyes. He shook his head mutely.

"Very well," Desperaux intoned. "Shawn and I have been in a… shall we say, very close working relationship for the past month or so."

With the way he said it, and the licentious grin that followed, there was no mistaking his meaning. Carlton's stomach dropped as he took in the implications. His presence here suddenly made a lot more sense.

"You slept with him?" Guster exclaimed.

Shawn reddened. "It's not like I meant for it to happen," he muttered.

"So Despereaux's the abusive boyfriend?"

"What?" The two Spencers exclaimed simultaneously.

"Abusive?" Despereaux said to himself and frowned. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Who the hell was talking about an abusive boyfriend?" Shawn asked. He turned a suspicious eye to Carlton.

"Don't look at me, you were the one who had bruises on his hips," Carlton said quickly.

"And how do you know that?" Henry growled. Carlton stiffened; he had forgotten the older Spencer sitting next to him.

"Eh…"

"He didn't force you, did he?" Guster asked Shawn suddenly.

Carlton blanched. "No! How could you-"

"Not you, Despereaux!"

"Guys, guys," Shawn shouted. Every gaze in the room turned to him. "I'm hungry, who wants pizza? I'm thinking one Hawaiian, one four cheese, maybe a New York for dad, since I know you like the added danger of a heart attack in every meal-"

"Shawn, for once could you at least _try _to be serious-"

"Spencer, for Christ's sake-"

"Shawn, I swear it, this is the last time-"

The sudden sound of gunfire caused everyone to fall silent. Despereaux stood in the middle of the room, his gun pointed up.

"My ceiling!" Henry exclaimed.

"Quiet," Despereaux deadpanned. "This was amusing at first, but seeing as how the police are on their way, we had better leave."

Again, the gun turned to Carlton and he inwardly cursed Shawn's libido for getting him into this mess. And his own. But mostly Shawn's.

"Don't do it," Shawn pleaded. "You've got nothing to gain by killing him."

Despereaux grinned. "On the contrary, it will make me much happier to see him dead."

Shawn's eyes flashed with something dangerous. "Fine," he said. "Do it. But just so you know, it's not gonna solve anything. It's not Lassie's fault I wasn't satisfied."

The art thief went eerily still.

"Don't get me wrong, it was fun at first," Shawn continued. "But as soon as the novelty wore of, it was kind of… boring." He smiled pleasantly. "Oh, but I don't blame you. It can be hard for people your age to keep it up."

The room was completely quiet. Guster was gaping openly at Shawn, while Henry had buried his face in his hands. Despereaux's expression was unreadable, which couldn't mean anything good.

It was then that they first heard it.

"Sirens," Shawn pointed out needlessly. "Your time's up, Pierre."

"As is yours," Despereaux said quietly and before any of them could react, he turned the gun to Shawn and shot.


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I am so sorry. There are no excuses for how long this took me. All I can say in my defense is that I actually have been working on this chapter for most of the time since I posted the last one. I wrote about four different versions before this one, one of which only consisted of: "Shawn got shot and died and everyone lived unhappily ever after", because I was so annoyed with this :/

But it's done now. I might add a little epilogue after this, but until I actually write that I'm just going to call this story finished.

**Chapter 8**

Shawn struggled with the lid of his pudding can, before giving up and putting it regretfully on the nightstand again, the delicious dessert forever out of his reach. There were certain disadvantages to having your right arm in a cast. And also to not having a can opener.

He was interrupted in his lamenting by a soft knock on the door, followed by a harrowed looking Gus. Shawn smiled brightly.

"Hey, buddy," he said. "Do you have a can opener?"

Gus rolled his eyes, but reached into his pocket for his Swiss knife. "Nice to see you too, Shawn."

Shawn didn't respond, too busy clumsily opening the can of pudding. Gus finally sighed and took it out of his hands, opening it himself.

"Has your dad been by yet?" Gus asked as he handed the pudding back to Shawn.

Shawn scoffed. "I think the question should be, 'has he left here since last Friday?'." He paused. "Okay, so he clearly has, but that was only because I made him. The guy was even sleeping here, which I don't think is allowed. Death threats were definitely involved."

"He's worried about you, Shawn," Gus pointed out. "We all are."

"Not all of you," Shawn muttered sullenly, stabbing at his pudding with a plastic spoon. He suddenly didn't feel very hungry.

"Is this about Lassiter?"

"No." Shawn sighed. "Maybe. He still hasn't visited."

Gus looked mildly uncomfortable. "He's been busy. Everyone at the station is."

"And yet everyone at the station has found the time to visit me at least once," Shawn exclaimed. "Even Karla the secretary, and she hates me."

"That's because you call her Karla the secretary. She's a telecommunicator. And her name is Sophie."

Shawn waved his hand dismissively. "She looks like a Karla to me."

"Shawn, stop changing the subject," Gus said, irritated. "How long until they release you?"

"Now who's changing the subject?"

Gus pinched at Shawn's arm just above where the cast ended, making the fake psychic yelp. "Just answer me."

"So violent," Shawn complained and rubbed his poor arm. "And I was supposed to stay for two more days, but they're letting me off with one for good behavior."

"You mean they can't stand having you around for longer than is absolutely necessary," Gus muttered.

"I am insulted that you think so little of me," Shawn said half-heartedly. "I have to come in twice a week for physical therapy though, to make sure my arm still works properly."

"Do they suspect permanent damage?" Gus asked worriedly.

Shawn shrugged with his left shoulder. "They're not sure. Apparently getting shot in the arm is a big deal. It's a good thing I'm amexterous."

"It's ambidextrous," Gus corrected. "And no, you're not."

"Why must you put me down?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "I have to get back to work," he told Shawn. "Promise me you'll go talk to Lassiter when you get out of here?"

Shawn fidgeted with his cast. "Why?"

"Because you're never going to be at peace with yourself if you don't," Gus said.

Shawn waggled his finger at his friend. "What have I told you about Dr. Phil, Gus?"

Gus huffed, annoyed. "Just talk to him."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Carlton was miserable. There was no going around it. After he had finished his final reports on the Despereaux case, the Chief had offered him a few days off and Carlton had actually said _yes_. Believe it or not, there was nothing he wanted less right now than to go back to the station. He'd never been so emotionally drained after a case before.

Then again, he'd never been so emotionally involved in one before either.

He hadn't left his apartment in four days. Not to go to work, not to buy groceries (he had a fairly large hidden stash of canned food in his apartment, just in case), not even to go to the hospital to visit a certain police consultant.

It wasn't like he had any obligation to. Shawn probably had plenty of people visiting him anyway, he wouldn't notice it if Carlton didn't show. And he'd gotten himself into this mess. If he hadn't slept with Despereaux, if he hadn't tried to solve this damn case on his own, if he hadn't taunted the criminal into pointing the gun at him instead of Carlton…

Yeah, Carlton was an asshole. Shawn had saved his life and he hadn't even bothered to visit him once. But how could he face him anymore? Knowing that Shawn had been in such serious trouble, that his life had been in jeopardy for _weeks_, it was more than enough to keep Carlton awake at night. So what if it was Shawn's poor decisions that had gotten him into this mess in the first place? Someone should have noticed. Carlton should have noticed

He should have been shot. He should be the one in the hospital with a cast on his arm right now.

Carlton sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. Staying at home was doing him no good. He needed a distraction.

Time to go back to work.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Just talk to him.

Shawn scratched his cast and scoffed. _Just talk to him_. If only it were that simple. Gus didn't seem to realize just how badly Shawn had screwed things up with Carlton. He'd be lucky if the older man ever even looked in his direction anymore.

He was currently sulking in the front seat of his dad's car. Henry had gone inside the gas station to pay for gas and probably to get away from Shawn's brooding for a few moments. Shawn couldn't blame him, he wasn't fun company right now. You'd think that finally getting out of that hospital bed would cheer him up.

_Just talk to him_.

Shawn glanced at the gas station. If he squinted he could see his father through the grimy windows, standing by the counter and making animated hand gestures at the cashier, a scared looking, pimply eighteen year old.

_Just talk to him._

Impulsively (as if he ever did anything any other way), Shawn climbed into the driver's seat. He grinned when he saw the car key still in the ignition. _Big mistake, old man._

Without second thought he turned it, put the car in first gear with much difficulty and drove off.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled over by the Santa Barbara Police Station, ignoring both his phone ringing for the tenth time in as many minutes and the dull aching in his right arm.

The station was, as usual, bustling with life. Most everyone greeted Shawn as they saw him, welcoming him back and congratulating him on solving the case. Shawn smiled back and ignored the guilty feeling nagging in the back of his brain.

"Shawn!" He heard a familiar voice exclaim before he was attacked by what he was pretty sure was a blonde hurricane.

"Jules," he gasped and patted her on the back. Juliet pulled back and smiled widely at him, but it quickly dropped into a look of concern.

"Are you alright?" She fretted. "Isn't it too soon for you to be up? Are you here to leave your statement, because I talked to the chief and she said-"

"I'm fine," Shawn cut in. "Chief Vick already took my statement yesterday."

Juliet frowned. "Then what are you doing here? You're not here to see him, are you?"

"Him?"

"Despereaux." At Shawn's blank expression, Juliet elaborated; "He's in interrogation right now. We've been trying for days to find out where he hid everything he stole, but he's not talking."

"Oh," Shawn said. "You're not… he's not… what has he told you guys?"

Juliet looked around, before grabbing Shawn's elbow and pulling him to her desk. "He hasn't talked about your relationship, if that's what you're asking," she said quietly. "It doesn't matter anyway; the Chief's official story is that you were going undercover. Anything else Despereaux says can be dismissed as lies, since there's no physical evidence that you two actually… you know…"

"Yeah, Vick told me yesterday," Shawn sighed. "I don't like it though. You guys could get fired or worse if we're found out. You would probably get arrested."

Juliet crossed her arms stubbornly. "Well, tough luck. We're going to do everything we can to protect you from this, so just get used to it. Besides, there's only the seven of us who know, so it's not likely to get out."

Shawn smiled despite himself. Then he remembered his original intention of coming here. "Is Lassie in?"

Juliet bit her bottom lip. "He's on leave," she said. "He hasn't been here except to leave his statement since you- since the whole thing went down."

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "Wow, really?"

"I guess he needed to sort some things out." Juliet sounded nonchalant, but Shawn could tell by her tone that she was dying to ask what he knew. He ignored it.

"Well, when Lassie gets back could you tell him-"

"Tell me what?"

Juliet and Shawn both jumped and turned to find Carlton standing a couple of feet away, looking very much like he wished he hadn't said anything.

"Lassie," Shawn exclaimed. "Back so soon?"

Carlton fidgeted. "I could say the same about you."

Juliet glanced between the two men. "I'll be in the ladies' room if anyone needs me," she informed them and left, despite Carlton's not-so-subtle headshaking.

As soon as she left, an awkward silence set in.

"So…"

Carlton nodded. "So."

"I'm sorry," Shawn blurted. "I shouldn't have- I mean, I really messed up with this- that is-"

Carlton held up his hand. "Can we not have this conversation out here?"

Shawn glanced around at the commotion around them. "Oh. Right. Sure, I guess."

They walked to the nearest empty conference room and Carlton closed the door, effectively cutting off the outside world. Shawn opened his mouth, no doubt to continue with his awkward, stumbling apology, but Carlton spoke before he had the chance to.

"You don't have to say you're sorry," he told Shawn. "I don't care about apologies or excuses right now. I just want to know _why_."

"Are you sure you don't want that apology?" Shawn asked. "Because if I don't get it out now I never might."

"I don't care," Carlton growled. "I want the truth, Spencer."

"I'm not actually psychic."

"You- what?" Carlton pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "That's great. Bring it up now of all times."

"You said you wanted the truth!" Shawn protested.

"_Don't_," Carlton warned him. "I don't want to play this game with you right now. Just tell me why you would associate with Despereaux. Why you didn't come to the police the second he contacted you."

Shawn hesitated. "I don't really know," he admitted. "I guess I- I wanted to solve the case on my own. At least, that was what it was about at first. After that I don't-"

"And what about your… relationship?" Carlton asked uneasily. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"To tell the truth, Gus was right," Shawn said. "I was feeling lonely after Abigail and I broke it off. It didn't help that the person I liked didn't want to have anything to do with me."

Carlton shifted where he stood and scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. He was pretty sure he knew what Shawn was insinuating, but he didn't want to ask in case he was wrong.

Shawn unwittingly took mercy on him. "The night Despereaux first kissed me, it was night after you and I… after you helped me home from Tom Blair's pub. He found out about it somehow, I think. He knew it'd be the perfect time to strike."

"You say it like he was hunting you."

Shawn shrugged. "That's what it felt like."

For a short while, neither of them spoke.

"I'm sorry for not visiting you in the hospital," Carlton finally muttered. Shawn stared up at him with such wonder at having actually received an apology from him, it made Carlton feel like even more of an asshole. Not that he was the only one to blame for the situation, but still… "I should have."

Shawn nodded mutely. "It's fine. I get why you didn't."

A beat.

"Listen ,Shawn," Carlton said. He had to say it now, before he could change his mind. "Do you want to have coffee sometime?"

Shawn looked shocked for a moment, before allowing a grin to slip on his face. "You mean, outside of a crime scene?"

Carlton shrugged awkwardly. "It's fine if you don't want to. It's just some coffee between coworkers."

Shawn's grin widened. "I'd love to."

Coffee between coworkers. It was a small step, but he'd take it. Besides, after all that had happened lately, coffee might be as much as he could handle for a while.

THE END


	10. Epilogue

**A/N:** I was just reading over this story again and inspiration struck. This thing practically wrote itself, in about ten minutes. I apologize for any OOCness, it's been over a year since I last watched Psych.

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

"You've got ten minutes, Shawn. That's all I can give you."

Shawn muttered his thanks at Jay the Security Guard (and old friend of Shawn's from his days as a hot dog vendor in Chicago) and entered the visitor's room. It was tiny and windowless, and immediately, Shawn felt trapped. Then the guards brought in Despereaux and the feeling worsened tenfold.

"Mr. Spencer," Despereaux said pleasantly in greeting. Shawn didn't reply.

"We'll leave you alone," Jay said. "Remember, Shawn, ten minutes."

Shawn nodded sharply. His mouth was too dry to form words and there was cold sweat on his brow already. How could he have thought this was a good idea? He should have offered Carlton's offer of coming along. Or Gus'. Or... well, not Henry's. There was no way that could end well.

Despereaux sat down in one of the two chairs in the room, raising an eyebrow at Shawn. "I must say I am surprised to see you, Shawn. For six months, I hear nothing of you and now... here you are." He cocked his head. "Just why are you here, exactly?"

Shawn sat down opposite Despereaux, still keeping a weary eye on him despite the older man being in handcuffs. "I don't know," he finally replied honestly. "I guess I... had to see you. To make sure you were still in prison and not off living the high life in Copenhagen or something."

"Believe me Shawn," Despereaux said charmingly. "If I had escaped, you would be the first to know."

An involuntary shiver ran through Shawn. "Because I'd be dead?"

Despereaux shrugged. "Dead or wishing to be."

Shawn stood up and stalked over to the door, fully intent on calling Jay back in. "This was a mistake. I swear, you're creepier than Yang."

"I was joking, Shawn," Despereaux said with a wave of his hand. "Sit down. As difficult as it may be to believe, I am no longer mad with you."

Shawn stopped and furrowed his brow. He turned back to Despereaux. "Seriously?"

"I have no reason to be. As far as I am concerned, we are even." Despereaux smiled disarmingly. "We both got in good shots at each other. Admittedly, mine was made of lead and probably hurt considerably more-"

"Left a scar, too," Shawn muttered.

"-but they were equally emasculating," Despereaux finished. "No, Shawn, I have no unfinished business with you. Your Head Detective on the other hand..."

Shawn's expression hardened. "Then you're mistaken, Pierre. If you want anything to do with Lassie, you have to go through me first."

Despereaux looked annoyed at that. "Is that still going on?"

"If by 'that', you mean my relatioship with Lassie, then yes," Shawn said, a bit proudly. And for a good reason, those four months and counting with Lassie made up the longest relationship of his adult life.

"Really now, what does he have that I do not?"

"You mean besides morals?"

Despereaux faked a hurt look. "You wound me, Spencer."

"Shawn."

Shawn turned around to see Jay peeking through the door.

"Just a few seconds more," he said. Jay looked nervous, but nodded nevertheless and went out into the hallway again.

"I have to go," Shawn told Despereaux needlessly. The older man sighed in disappointment.

"It has been a pleasure talking with you again, Shawn," he said.

Shawn nodded. "I wish I could say likewise, but... it really hasn't been."

Despereaux grinned. "Come now, Shawn. You can't say you haven't missed me one bit."

"Actually, I can," Shawn protested.

Despereaux raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you come see me?"

"I told you, I don't know." Shawn shrugged. "Closure?"

Despereaux stood up and walked up to Shawn, who instinctively took a few steps back. The criminal kept walking until he had backed Shawn into the wall.

"What are you doing?" Shawn said with a note of hysteria in his voice. Logically, he knew there was little Despereaux could do to hurt him with his hands cuffed and guards standing just outside the door, but it was really hard to think logically with the subject of most of his nightmares cornering him.

"Giving you closure."

It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to Shawn when Despereaux's lips closed over his, but he still squeeked. For one moment he flailed around, before gaining his senses and pushing Despereaux away. Strangely enough, the older man obeyed immediately and even took a few steps back of his own accord.

Shawn blinked. "Okay then."

"Time's up," Jay announced as he walked back into the room. "Sorry, Shawn."

Shawn shook his head, while Despereaux continued to look extremely pleased with himself. "It's... that's fine. I was just about to leave, anyway."

He out stumbled into the hallway, Jay following him, looking slightly worried.

"Do visit again any time you feel like it, Mr. Spencer," Despereaux called after him.

Smug bastard.

But as he walked out of the prison, Shawn couldn't help but feel lighter than he had in months. He'd come here uncertain of just what he wanted, and he'd gotten closure... of sorts.

Because he'd met with Despereaux - he'd even shared a kiss with him - and he hadn't once felt like a victim (okay, except for a slight moment there when he was being backed against the wall). It was a surprisingly freeing realization.

And with an honest-to-God skip in his step, Shawn headed home.

(This time it really is) THE END


End file.
